


oh, how the years fly by

by Salvager (Straggler)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Gen, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Memory Loss, Misunderstandings, Occasional mentions of violence, Past Relationship(s), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Winter Soldier James "Bucky" Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Winter Soldier James "Bucky" Barnes, Recovery, Slow Burn, Therapy, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-03-25 19:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 93,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13841037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straggler/pseuds/Salvager
Summary: He didn’t think anything would change. He didn’t think everything would change. He thought he was still studying to be an animator, thought he was still working part-time in the library to make rent, thought he was still flatting with his best friend-slash-boyfriend in a cheap and tiny apartment just three blocks away from their university campus. He never thought he’d be more than a stunted body, never thought he’d be more than invisible to anybody and everybody except Bucky, never thought he’d be made captain, let alone be afforded the opportunity to join the army. Most of all, he thought he was still 21.He’s 30 and he doesn’t know how to live this life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I jumped off the Teen Wolf fandom and got yanked into the Captain America MCU and lemme tell ya, it’s been crazy. Mostly because I’ve been reading for years but I didn’t think I’d get back into writing again, which is something I said when I disappeared from FF.NET and reappeared on AO3 but, seriously? I guess this is just one of those things you’ll keep coming back to. As usual, I’m slow to join things on time as they happen but hey, as they all say: Better late than never!
> 
> Enjoy the ride with me, ladies and gents!
> 
> (It's almost time for Infinity Wars and I'm here, finally dipping my toes in for the first time since Captain America got launched into the cinemas in 2011. Yeesh, I'm slow.)

He remembers shutting the blinds before going to sleep. At the very least, he remembers telling Bucky to shut the blinds before going to sleep. He remembers pulling the blankets all the way up to his shoulders, tucking his feet in the folds leftover from the bottom, remembers waiting for Bucky to crawl into bed with him, listening to him dragging his feet as he comes back from the bathroom, remembers feeling arms snake around his waist, fingers interlocking in front of his stomach and a soft kiss just behind his ear. He remembers that he’s got to wake up early the next morning to pack some leftovers for lunch because he forgot to do it after dinner, remembers that he’s got to ask the head-librarian if it’s possible to pick up an extra shift or two, remembers that he needs to buy a new pair of shoes because it keeps getting soaked through even in the light rain, remembers Bucky telling him to stop thinking and _just go to sleep_. So he goes to sleep.

The lights are so bright, he has to shut his eyes quickly from the burn. The room is cold and Bucky’s not beside him warming the sheets and his feet. The bed feels wrong and he doesn’t know why he’s sleeping on his back because he hasn’t slept on his back for years. There’s a monotonous beep coming from beside him and he think it’s weird that Bucky would set that kind of alarm because it sure as heck ain’t coming from his own phone.

He tries opening his eyes again, sees the fluorescent lights above him and he doesn’t know when Bucky switched out the faded yellow bulb to this but he wants the old lights back because this one _sears_. He groans and turns to his side, feeling an ache from lying down for so long and this is why he doesn’t sleep on his back because it always _hurts_ even though doctors tell him that it ought to help with his scoliosis. That’s when he feels the tug in his arm and looks down to see a tape over a vein. That’s when he notices the arm that’s not his because it’s too big, too muscular, too strong for what he’s used to.

The beeping picks up then, in accordance with his heart, and that’s when he notices that he’s not in his bedroom back in their shared apartment but in a hospital, sleeping on his own cot, in what appears to be a private room. His breathing stutters and he jumps when the door to his room bursts open and a brown-haired man is rushing towards him. Steve scoots back on his bed, arms up and palms open, trying to figure out what to say, and that’s when he sees the man’s eyes from behind his long hair and feels his breath stop in his throat because the other man looks like Bucky, but he’s too old to be his Bucky, looks too scared and too strained around his eyes where there used to be laugh lines. His hands shake as he lowers them and swallows the name down.

‘Steve,’ the brunet breathes out, his fingers gripping onto the hospital sheets so tight until his knuckles have turned pale from it.

‘Bucky?’ He can’t help but ask, taking a closer look and it becomes clearer who the brunet is; everything about the man in front of him is still the same, just a little rougher around the edges, just a little more weathered. ‘Bucky,’ he laughs and chokes at the same time because it’s him, _it is_ ; he’s drawn those eyes so many times that he’d have to be blind not to recognize them.

‘Steve,’ he says again, a shaky smile on his face as he comes forward and touches his jaw with trembling fingers. ‘God, please don’t do that to me ever again,’ he begs as he rests his forehead onto Steve’s, his breath shuddering. ‘Please, don’t make me go through that again.’

He doesn’t know what he did but he knows he wouldn’t want to do it again, either, because he went to bed thinking he’s still 21 and he’s woken up in a completely different body and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

‘I thought I was smaller.’ He can’t help but say as he stares at his hands. He knows they’re his hands because of that mole on his palm right between his thumb and index finger, and he recognizes the scar on the back of his wrist from when a moody cat scratched him but everything’s filled out and he’s gotten more scars somewhere along the way and he doesn’t know how it happened.

‘I thought you were dead,’ Bucky whispers, his head falling onto Steve’s shoulder and his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the skin just along his jaw line.

‘What happened to me?’ He turns to look at his other shoulder and it’s bigger, too. The bicep is huge and he’s never seen so many muscles on his body before and if it weren’t for the fact that he’s studied anatomy he would’ve thought he’d grown some extra body parts.

Bucky laughs, a horrible mirthless sound and Steve can’t help the frown forming between his eyebrows when Bucky finally straightens himself out to tell him, ‘You joined the army.’

The army.

‘Right,’ he blinks and realizes that Bucky isn’t joking at all. ‘What?’

\--

The stay at the hospital is long and boring. He feels fine and, even though it still freaks him out a little bit (a lot), he _looks_ fine, too; he doesn’t see the point in staying another two days for “observation” which he really doesn’t like the sound of. He fights on it but Bucky begs him to stay and it’s not even the “please” that gets him but the desperation in which he says it and the fear in his eyes. Steve doesn’t know what he went through to get that kind of look on Bucky’s face but he thinks it must’ve been bad even though he feels better than he’s ever felt in his entire life.

Two days pass like molasses. The doctors and nurses come into his room two at a time, asking questions, doing more tests, repeating the same questions _again_ and he knows he’s missing a lot of information in his head but he doesn’t see how asking what year he thinks this is again in the last how many hours is going to help. The only reason he bites his tongue from cussing up a storm at them is the fact that Bucky is there looking calm and just the tiniest bit hopeful at every other doctor that comes in.

He wants to call it a day, wants to shut the door and just lie down in bed with Bucky, talk to him about everything he’s missed and relearn everything about him.

This Bucky wears his hair long, is unshaven and a little wild but he looks so good and Steve can’t help but think how different he is but still so very much the same. There’s still the same strong jaw line and the sharp cheekbones, still the same voice but his eyes are a beautiful blue that he’s never seen before and he’s so thankful to the changes in his body that took away everything wrong with him and gave him this.

‘What’re you smiling at?’ Bucky asks, turning the chair and his head a little bit to the side at an angle that Steve really wants to try and draw.

‘You,’ he answers, lying on his side with his head pillowed on his arm. His body feels weird, massive still, but he likes that he can breathe and not have to hear his lungs with every shaky inhale and exhale. The brunet chuckles at this, exactly the reaction that Steve was aiming for and he feels proud for it. Despite all of the changes, the way they tick still remains the same.

He sits up and swings his legs over the bed. He feels different but he doesn’t let that distract him as he leans closer to Bucky, his eyes sliding shut. He feels Bucky’s hand on his chest, his thumb firm on his collarbone when the door opens up and another doctor comes in. Steve groans and looks up at the ceiling, blinking twice before looking back at Bucky who’s leaned back in his seat, looking a little bit wide-eyed.

‘Sorry to, uh...interrupt,’ the man says as he fidgets with the clipboard, pushing his glasses up on his nose for something else to do.

‘Don’t worry about it, doc,’ Bucky breathes and looks away from Steve, standing up and walking off to lean back on the wall nearby, arms crossed over his chest and one ankle resting over the other.

Steve doesn’t get it; Bucky’s never been one to shy away about sharing a kiss in public but maybe he’s grown to be a more private person in the last few years. He doesn’t know; he hasn’t had the opportunity or the privacy to ask or talk about anything with him, yet. He can’t wait to go home and just figure out where they stand because, as it is, he’s a bit confused.

‘My name is Bruce Banner,’ the doctor introduces himself, looking at Steve a little expectantly as he says this. Steve doesn’t know what else to do other than nod and introduce himself again.

The brunet, Bruce, draws in a quiet breath and holds it as he looks down at his clipboard, exhaling slowly as he reads for a little bit before placing it on the vacated chair. He turns a little bit and leans his hip onto the bed, his posture surprisingly casual enough to make Steve feel a little less like wanting to bite the man’s head off just for being the unlucky schmuck assigned to him.

‘I’m going to be honest with you; we’ve already met before. The first time was about nine years ago,’ Bruce tells him and Steve can’t help but look at him more clearly in hopes of recognizing him.

The man has soft brown hair, white at the temples, cut short and has a little bit of a curl to them. His eyes are brown, a dark hazel with little flecks of green in them and there are small laugh lines around his eyes and lips. Steve doesn’t recall this man and he can’t help but feel sorry about that.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Bruce tells him with a kind smile, ‘You’re doing really well physically. A normal person wouldn’t have recovered as swiftly as you did considering the kind of physical trauma that you went through. Your head took quite a few hits, though; you’ve been in a coma for over a year but I’m confident that with some rest and some time you’ll be just fine.’

‘A year?’ he asks shakily, feels his breath leave him at the thought of having been asleep for over a year but the doctor reassures him it’s fine; common even, and that hopefully sooner or later his memories will come back to him. He wants to know what he’s missed and he’s desperate to figure out how he fits into this new world. He’s nine years into the future and everything is simultaneously the same and totally different.

Bruce nods and pushes himself back off the bed, picking up the clipboard and turning the pages until he hits the last one. ‘I think we can sign you out now. There’s nothing more we can do outside of telling you to stay healthy, not to do anything strenuous and  just take it easy for a while.’

‘Really?’ Both he and Bucky say at the same time but where Steve is excited the brunet seems a little uneasy.

‘Buck, I’m fine, I can just kick back and relax at home; exactly the same as I’ve been doing here,’ he frowns a little but Bucky is avoiding his eyes, keeping them firmly on the doctor as he signs off the bottom.

‘I’m prescribing you some painkillers in the event that you start getting headaches. Head injuries are tricky but we’re confident that you’re past the worst of it,’ Bruce says with a reassuring smile that Steve returns, feeling excited to leave the hospital and go back home. He hasn’t got anything to change into but he’ll damn well walk out of the building in just hospital scrubs with his ass showing if that’s what he needs to do.

Bucky sighs as he pushes himself off the wall and pulls out a bag from under the bed that Steve hadn’t noticed before. It’s small but when it gets unzipped he can see a change of clothes inside as well as a pair of socks and sneakers. Steve beams at Bucky who is slow to return it and seems a little brittle around the corners.

He reaches out to touch Bucky’s forearm and Bucky reaches back, his fingers tightening and holding on with the tiniest of shakes.

‘Go change; I’ll get your meds for you,’ Bucky tells him softly, his hand loosening and letting go.

‘Don’t forget to sign out at the counter,’ Bruce adds just before wishing him well and leaving the room.

Steve doesn’t bother with closing the door fully behind him in the bathroom because it’s not like Bucky hasn’t seen him naked before. He pulls off his scrubs and quickly changes into the clothes that Bucky brought. The shirt is a bit tight, especially around his chest and he wonders why he didn’t bother to buy clothes that are bigger rather than keeping to the same wardrobe. He shrugs and ignores it as he zips up the hooded sweater before leaving the bathroom, bringing the empty bag with him as he leaves the room to go find Bucky.

The hospital is busy; he can see doctors, nurses, patients and other people within the corridor he’s in. It takes him a while but he eventually finds the main area where he can see Bucky standing by the counter with another clipboard in hand. He honestly doesn’t miss this place and, in his mind, it’d only been a few months since he was admitted because his sore throat turned into bronchitis, which his asthma hadn’t been happy about.

As soon as they’re out, Steve reaches out for Bucky’s hand, holding on tight because they’ve barely been able to touch each other since he woke up. It’s only when a cab is pulling up for them that he realizes that Bucky’s handhold is loose, letting go easily so he can take the empty bag and gets in the backseat first.

Steve doesn’t think too hard about it; he got a little bit distracted by Bucky’s ass in those dark blue jeans.

\--

The apartment is not what he expected. He knew that they couldn’t possibly have stayed in the same small one-room apartment for the last nine years but he’s surprised to find that it’s easily twice the size of their old place. Everything looks clean – not a single crack in the drywall or spots of mildew in the ceiling, no leaky pipes and noisy water cylinders. The whole place is spacious with enough walking room between everything that they’d really have to be blind drunk to walk into any of the furniture.

The kitchen is made up of wooden bench tops and cupboards, with the appliances all done up in chrome. He can see himself using this space a lot but what really gets him is the bedroom with the floor to ceiling windows. The natural lighting makes the whole place seem bigger and brighter and he’s suddenly itching for an easel and a good stick of charcoal except that he knows he’s not limited to what mediums he can use now that he can see everything in glorious colour. He looks behind him to where Bucky is leaning on the door, arms and ankles crossed exactly like he did back in the hospital room but he’s got a soft smile on his face.

‘This is great. I can’t believe we can afford this place,’ Steve grins as he goes through all of the drawers and the closet and the bedside table. It’s filled with all of their stuff. He can’t tell whose is whose but they’ve been living out of each other’s pockets for so long that it doesn’t even matter anymore.

Bucky huffs out a little breath as he pushes himself from the door. This Bucky moves a little differently, too – more confident, more grace and less bravado and careless swagger. The brunet takes off his leather jacket, hanging it on a hook behind the door that Steve’s only noticed now and asks, ‘Want a sandwich? I know you’re probably hungry.’

‘I can eat,’ he’s really starving now that he’s out of the hospital. Their food has always sat a little bit funny in his stomach, roiling in a way that feels unsettling – like he wants to eat but he can’t stomach another bite.

Bucky makes them four sandwiches but Steve ends up eating three of them, he’s so hungry. He feels a little embarrassed by how much he put away – he’s never eaten so much in one go before – and offered to make another one but Bucky just tells him he’s fine, that he had something earlier before going to visit him at his room.

He’s washing the dishes and leaving them to dry on the rack when he decides to broach the subject with Bucky, ‘We should talk, right? About what I’ve missed? Maybe it’ll jog my memory.’

The brunet is sitting with his back to Steve, playing with his phone as he says, ‘I don’t know. I think we should wait a while and see if you remember anything on your own without me throwing things into your head.’

Steve makes a face at that as he washes the last of the suds away and wipes his hands dry, ‘You think so?’ He asks, feeling dubious about it.

‘Yeah,’ he says as he puts his phone down.

Steve shrugs and decides he can wait.

So he waits.

\--

He waits a damn long time.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The new apartment is a nice upgrade from their old place. _Really nice_. Especially since he gets to skip the nine years of hardship – graduating, finding a job and getting a salary and earning it for long enough that the two of them can pool in their money to be able to sign onto this place together – to get to this point. _It’s so nice_.

Bucky laughs at him, and Steve knows it’s because he’s been saying everything out loud as he’s looking through every cupboard in the kitchen and exploring every nook and cranny the living room has to offer. The bathroom has a shower and tub combination and the thought of it makes his head spin. Their old apartment had a box barely big enough to fit one, with a drain that was blocked at least half the time and no amount of cleaner down the pipes could fix permanently. The water pressure here is great, too, and he doesn’t have to worry about the hot water running out after spending ten minutes in there. He can take as long as he wants. Heck, he could take a bath everyday if he wanted to.

‘Want to join me?’ Steve asks, excited at the thought of sharing space with Bucky. The soap and shampoo they currently have is pretty generic but that’s not the main point. ‘I bet it’ll be really nice.’

‘Neither of us are gonna get clean if we both go in at the same time,’ Bucky tells him as he looks down at his phone, his smirk a little wry at the edges. ‘But you go ahead; I need to check in with work for a little bit. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’ll pick up dinner on the way back.’

‘Okay, sure,’ he says as he turns to the bathroom and peels off his shirt, hoping to tempt Bucky into changing his mind. He hears Bucky curse a little under his breath and Steve feels proud at getting that reaction out of him, feels good about his body in a way he never has before, but he’s disappointed when he hears the front door open and shut behind him, the lock turning just after.

Steve sighs but doesn’t let it stop him from enjoying the first bath he’s had in years.

\--

He almost nods off in the bath, his body calmed down enough to the point of total relaxation. He gets shaken from his light doze by Bucky who looks at him with a worried pinch between his eyebrows.

‘Geez, Rogers, you just got out of the hospital. Please don’t drown yourself by falling asleep in the bathtub.’

‘Sorry, Buck. Didn’t realize how tired I was,’ he says as he splashes water onto his face and rubs at his eyes.

The brunet sighs and pats at his shoulder, slipping a hand under his arm to pull him up. ‘Come on. Dry up and get changed. I got us some Chinese food for dinner.’

‘Thanks,’ he smiles sleepily as he wipes himself down with a fluffy towel while Bucky drains the tub and mutters under his breath that it was a good thing he was only gone for an hour instead of two.

They sit across of each other on the dining table and there are six cartons of food on the table still in the plastic bag. It smells great but all Steve wants is to lie down in bed and go to sleep, the stress and restlessness of staying in the hospital an additional two days finally caught up to him.

Bucky gets him to eat one box, at least a little something to tide him through the night, and helps him to bed. His eyelids feel heavy and he can barely keep them open for more than a couple of seconds at a time, but he notices that Bucky isn’t getting into bed with him and the thought of going to sleep without him again makes him feel cold.

‘You’re not coming to bed with me?’ He asks, knows he can’t stop the whine in his voice as he grabs for the brunet’s hand.

‘I wasn’t kidding about work.’

‘Please?’

He hears a sigh and the bed dip down on one side. He holds Bucky’s hand close to his chest and feels something in him settle and his mind drift off. He feels a hand gently card through his hair and he hums a little bit at the feeling of home right here.

Steve wakes up again when he feels the bed shift but Bucky is murmuring softly into his hair, telling him to go back to sleep so he does, thinking Bucky will be right back.

In the morning he wakes up alone and wonders when Bucky started being the early bird of the two of them. His Bucky used to sleep till noon if he could get away with it but he supposes Bucky’s picked up his habit of waking at dawn throughout the years.

He misses the warmth.

\--

Bucky said that he’s technically on break for another four days but there are just some things he needs to do on his own – he’s the one that’s built up a rapport with the clients, the one whose charming smile gets the business a slightly bigger discount, the one who makes sure everybody gets along with each other during business hours.

‘Wow, really? That sounds amazing, Buck; you’re already running the place like a pro.’

Bucky smiles, his expression a little coy at the compliment. ‘I’ve been working there since we were in college; I was bound to get promoted eventually.’

‘I know, and I missed all of that, but it’s great! I’m happy for you,’ he grins and notices the smile slowly slip off Bucky’s lips. He tries to amend it, ‘All that complaining finally got you somewhere, huh?’

The brunet barks out a laugh. ‘Yeah, looks like it. Anyway, I’ll be back in an hour or so.’

‘Okay,’ he steps closer to peck Bucky on the lips but the brunet moves his head so that he ends up kissing onto his cheek instead. Steve turns it into a raspberry as payback and gets a snort as Bucky playfully shoves at his shoulder before picking up his keys and heading out.

Steve touches his lips, feeling the slight tingle from the slight scrape of Bucky’s beard. He likes it and can’t help the smile on his face as he goes back into the bedroom in search of a sketchbook. He’s been wanting to draw since before the end of the first day at the hospital. He knows he wants Bucky as his first subject but he also wants to know what his past self has been up to the last nine years.

It takes him a while but he eventually finds the drawers where all his art supplies are kept and they all look nice and new, like they were just broken fresh out of the package. When he opens up the sketchbook, all the pages are empty; not a single pencil mark on it. He goes through the others but they’re all the same.

He wonders if maybe he’s got a stash of used sketchbooks somewhere but he ignores the thought as he grabs a set of pencils and an eraser. He loves the feel and smell of a new sketchbook, loves the experience of putting an idea down onto a new page. He grabs a light pencil and starts putting down the basic shapes for a head, neck and shoulders before going into detail with a face, hair and light shading.

The floor-to-ceiling windows of the bedroom make him inexplicably happy. He starts off sitting on the bed, then on the floor with his back braced on the side of the mattress, trying to find the best angle and the most comfortable position to sketch in. Steve thinks about getting a beanbag now that he doesn’t have to worry about his sore back hindering him anymore. Maybe he can get Bucky to model for him and he can reuse that cliché line from Titanic and get a laugh out of him. The thought makes him crack a smile and then a little laugh as he darkens and shades in the philtrum of Bucky’s lips.

He’s just adding little highlights into Bucky’s hair when he hears the door unlock and open up, the brunet saying that he got them something from the bakery just down the road.

‘Thanks,’ Steve says as he puts the sketchbook on the covers and stands up, stretching his back and brushing away the eraser pieces from his clothes. He turns around and sees Bucky standing by the door, eyeing the sketchbook on the bed, a little surprised look on his face.

‘Hey, you’re drawing again,’ he smiles, awed as he picks up the book and looks at his own reflection on the paper.

He chuckles, ‘Well, yeah, I studied animation for a reason. Why wouldn’t be I drawing?’

Bucky’s smile drops as he rubs his thumb along the edge of the paper, taking care not to smudge the pencil markings. ‘You stopped after you joined the army,’ he says quietly as he hands the sketchbook back and leaves their bedroom.

Steve doesn’t understand why he would do that – why he would join the army, why he would give up his first passion, why Bucky won’t tell him anything that’s happened in the last nine years of their lives. He’s missing so much of the big picture and he wants so desperately to remember but he doesn’t know how or where to start.

He tries asking again later that night when they’re both in bed but Bucky gives no quarter. Steve huffs and stares at the side of Bucky’s head, hoping to glare some sense into the brunet but the other steadfastly keeps his eyes on the ceiling above them.

‘Bucky,’ he whines, grabbing onto his arm and shaking him a little.

‘Steve, please. I don’t know how the brain works, I don’t know what’ll happen if I say too much, I don’t want—’ he stops, his throat working and his eyes shining.

‘Okay,’ he relents, repeating the word again and again when Bucky turns over to lie on his side, facing away from Steve. He didn’t mean to push to this point; he just wanted something, even a scrap of a memory but he’s got nothing so far. He wants to be angry about it, wants to be angry at Bucky for not telling him a single thing, but he’s only ever seen Bucky cry twice in his entire life and he never wants to be the cause of it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmurs as he shuffles a little closer to the brunet, touching his waist, wrapping an arm around his stomach and pulling him close. There’s a line of tension in Bucky’s body and Steve tries to kiss it away, whispering reassurances into his shoulder.

He falls asleep like that, holding Bucky close, but he wakes up alone and the sheets on the other side of the bed cooled down.

\--

He’s a quarter of the way through his sketchbook when he realizes that the walls of their apartment are weirdly empty. Their old place used to have random pictures put up on the wall – a photo of their families, a crude drawing by Bucky, a better drawing of it by Steve, a candid shot from a Polaroid camera taped up next to the front door; just little hints here and there of their lives together – but there’s almost none of that here.

Maybe it’s because they’re both older now and prefer their privacy but even that sounds like a flimsy excuse to him. Why shouldn’t they share photos of themselves to other people who might come by their place? He remembers they used to have a competition of drawing the same stuff together and tape it side-by-side because it’s fun and it encourages Steve to keep practicing. He wonders if Bucky took it all down and put it away in a box somewhere, worrying that seeing them might trigger something in his brain. A part of him is flattered that Bucky is taking care of his recovery but, at the same time, he’s not a baby and he’s not made of glass.

Steve’s thinking about telling Bucky to ease off on the mother-henning because there’s only so much of it he can handle without feeling smothered.

He’s going through the bookshelves and DVDs when he finds a couple of journal planners. It’s from a few years ago and it’s mostly for Bucky’s work. He opens the pages and the book opens up between the months of August and September, revealing a small stack of photos of just five pieces.

It’s of them and the first photo is from when they went clubbing back in their college years. Bucky’s got an arm around Steve’s shoulder, holding a brown bottle with the label partially ripped off while he’s wearing those stupid pink plastic glasses with little hearts on them. It makes him laugh as he goes to the next photo.

This one is a candid Polaroid of Steve drawing in his sketchbook at the library, bent over the pages and unknowing that he’s gotten his photo taken. He remembers this day, remembers the flash that caught his attention and Bucky holding back a laugh at his face because he’s got _bed hair, damn it_.

 _You look cute with bed hair_ , Bucky had said as he pulled out the photo and waited for it to develop. _Whereas, I look sexy_.

_It’s only sexy because I run my fingers through it._

He remembers the afternoon turned from a study session into a romp in the sheets because neither of them are one to back down from a challenge. He misses it, suddenly; the camaraderie and the easy relationship they had – their constant teasing and touching and whispering into each other’s ears.

It’s only been less than a week since he woke up in the hospital, waking up in a different body and nine years into the future. This Bucky isn’t as open as his old Bucky and he’s suddenly scared that maybe they don’t fit together anymore like they used to. He’s still 21 in his head and it’s only now that he realizes that nine years is a big gap to bridge.

Steve doesn’t know if he can and the thought scares him.

\--

Bucky goes out almost every day, leaving twice and usually for about an hour or so each, but the times that he’s in the apartment he’s careful about giving Steve space which Steve knows he should appreciate but only serves to make him a little bit frustrated. There’s none of the casual touching that Steve hadn’t realized he’s grown used to receiving from Bucky until it’s suddenly stopped. Even when he tries to initiate contact, Bucky eventually shies away from it.

They don’t kiss, they don’t touch, they don’t have sex and they don’t go around naked as the day they were born, comfortable as all heck. Steve doesn’t know how much of it is because he just got out of the hospital and how much of it is because they’ve reached the stage of their relationship where sex isn’t everything anymore and they’re too old to be doing the dirty on every surface and too old to be walking around the apartment butt naked just for the fun of it and to rile each other up.

Steve misses it the way he misses the nine years gone from his head.

‘Come on, Buck; I’m not so bad that we can’t have a little _fun_ ,’ he says just as Bucky comes back into the apartment after a half an hour phone call, laying the suggestion heavily with a waggle of his eyebrows, but Bucky doesn’t bite, doesn’t even look his way as he puts the phone down on the kitchen counter.

‘I know the docs say that you’re physically fine—’

‘Yes! Exactly, so—’

‘—but I still don’t wanna put any mental strain and stress you out when you should be relaxing and trying to find a way back to some amount of normalcy.’

Steve groans and flops back onto the couch, unable to help the petulant tone in his voice as he tells the brunet, ‘Bucky, I am 21 in my goddamn head. Your normal ain’t my normal and if I don’t get any help with jogging my memories then I don’t even know if _your Steve_ is coming back.’

He doesn’t mean for it to come out quite so callous but he’s had enough. It’s quiet and Steve doesn’t want to look over in Bucky’s direction; he’s too angry about how much Bucky is helping him by _not_ helping him and he’s frustrated that he can’t even think of them as a couple anymore. Whenever he got sick his old Bucky would hover over his shoulder and would walk ten blocks over to get his favourite chicken noodle soup and treat him to a massage because his back is almost always in constant pain. This Bucky isn’t his Bucky and he misses him so much even though _he’s right there_.

Steve blinks away the sting in his eyes and breathes loudly through his nose as he sits up and retreats to the bedroom, burying himself under the covers with his back to the door because he doesn’t want to see Bucky and see all the ways that he’s changed. He would trade back this new body if it meant he’d get back his memories of what he used to have with Bucky. He suddenly hates it so much because of what it’s taken away from him.

He feels the bed dip and a hand snake around his waist on top of the covers, desperately holding him close. Steve doesn’t acknowledge it the way Bucky hasn’t acknowledged how his lack of trying has hurt Steve. He feels a visceral ache in his chest and he fights back the tears as Bucky breathes into the fabric of his shirt right between his shoulder blades. He’s shaking, they both are but Steve refuses to turn around and see all the things he’d unwittingly given up in exchange for the body he’s always wanted to have.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Bucky murmurs between them, his tears dampening his neck and the fabric of his shirt, his arms squeezing around Steve and holding on tightly like he might leave and disappear.

Steve grits his teeth against the words he wants to say as he turns his head into the pillow to wipe away his tears. There’s so many things he wants to say – I love you, I hate you, I miss you, please leave me alone – but he bites them all back because he doesn’t know if he can handle being nine years into the future if it means Bucky isn’t going to be around with him.

He remembers Bucky saying that they’ll get married some day but he doesn’t see it happening anymore, not like this, not as they are.

They both cry themselves to sleep and when Steve wakes up he’s surprised that Bucky is still there, still holding him close.

He lies still and wonders how long they have got left to go. He doesn’t want to think about it.

\--

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! Lawl, uhm, real life got me a bit carried away but here is the next chapter!!! ENJOY!

The lighting is good in the bedroom and he finds himself staying there most of the day just idly drawing in his sketchbook. He’d started off just doodling the scenery, trying to get the textures of the brickwork from across the road, the cracks and the shadows and scrubbed off graffiti. He lets his pencil do most of the work, his mind just drifting off and not thinking of anything in particular because once he starts focussing on his lack of memories or Bucky then he’s never gonna be able to shut that door and right now he just doesn’t want to think.

Steve doesn’t realize he’s drawn the Bucky he knows and loves and misses until he hears the brunet make a soft little noise behind him. He turns to a new page and doesn’t look over his shoulder, trying to redesign one of the seven dwarves from Snow White into the style of Lord of the Rings. He’s drawn the basics of two of them when he feels the bed dip behind him. Bucky’s home later than usual but he doesn’t dwell on that thought for too long.

‘Steve?’

‘Hm?’ He holds the ache in his chest and wishes it didn’t hurt so much to hear Bucky’s voice but know he’s a completely different man to the one he knew and shared so many years with.

‘Wanna go out? Have brunch? We can go to that deli across the road; I hear they’re pretty good.’

‘I’m not hungry, thanks,’ he mumbles as he draws in the third dwarf, feeling a little shaky on the inside and tries to keep his breathing nice and even. In, out, in, out.

He marvels a little at how effortless it is to breathe now. That he can draw as many deep breaths as he wants and not have to hear that little wheeze and whistle that comes from an unhealthy set of lungs. He doesn’t have to worry about the squeeze or the skip or flip of his heart, the way it now beats so evenly beneath his rib cage. He doesn’t need to lean or tilt his head to whoever’s talking now because his hearing is good on both sides. The world is so full of color and there aren’t enough shades of pencils to do it enough justice. He focuses on all these things and not the weighty silence behind him coming from the man he loves so desperately.

‘I’m sorry, Steve,’ the brunet says quietly as his hand settles hesitantly on his shoulder.

He stops sketching and wills himself not to move away from the familiar touch he misses despite his frustration. ‘Does it matter?’

‘It matters to you.’

Steve can’t help the derisive snort as he closes the sketchbook with a snap and lays it on the bedside table next to the pencils, pens and eraser. Bucky’s hand slips away from his shoulder as Steve gets up and grabs a hooded sweater, pulling it over his head before moving to the front door. He can’t stay. He can’t bear to stay.

Bucky follows after him, ‘Steve, please,’ he begs, holding onto his arm and tugging him. ‘I’m trying.’

He doesn’t want to look at him. ‘Yeah, so am I,’ he says as he squeezes his hands into fists, trying hard not to yank his arm back, waiting for Bucky to let go. He keeps his eyes on the door, wanting to be on the other side of it, wanting to walk or run somewhere that isn’t here, wants to go back home but where is home without Bucky?

The hand on his arm tightens once, twice and pulls again, a little more gently. Eventually, the brunet sighs and says shakily, ‘Okay, let’s talk.’

‘No, Buck,’ he doesn’t budge, ‘I’m not gonna force you to talk when you don’t wanna. You’re obviously waiting for something to pop back into my head but if you don’t know how the brain works then I know even less.’

He feels more than he sees Bucky’s flinch and a part of him feels guilty for bringing up the memory loss but it’s a bit too much like trying to avoid the subject of the pink elephant in the room – the pink elephant being him and the missing nine years from his head – there’s no use.

‘I’m scared, okay?’ Bucky forces out quickly, uncharacteristic enough that it makes Steve turn and look at him, see the struggle in his eyes and on his face. ‘The doctors said that if you remember too much too fast you might go into shock and I don’t want that to happen. I just got you back; I don’t want to lose you again.’

‘Buck, you’re doing a damn good job of losing me by keeping your trap shut,’ he confesses, not unkindly, but it’s enough to get another guilty flinch out of him. Steve sighs as he turns and holds onto the brunet’s hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of his wrist and the bone of his ulna, keeping his eyes firmly down on the veins of his arm.

‘I’m sorry,’ Bucky keeps apologizing. ‘Please, just a couple more days, until I can sort out where to start and where to go from there.’

Steve nods – a couple of days; he can wait that long. ‘Okay.’

Bucky pulls him closer then wraps him up in a hug, his arms tight around his shoulders like he’s trying to keep him from walking out that door, shuffling backwards until they’re both on the couch of the living room and lying on top of it.

‘Just a couple more days, I swear. I’ll tell you everything I can.’

‘Okay,’ he repeats and holds on just as tight, missing Bucky so much that it’s like a physical ache.

They stay like that until the sun dips low behind the buildings. When they leave to grab dinner the deli across the road is still open and they go in for sandwiches, slices of cheese and cold meats. They end up taking home a loaf of bread, small tub of olives and pickles, packages of thinly sliced salamis and pastramis and a jar of homemade relish.

Steve tells himself, _a couple more days_ , as they go to sleep in the same bed with Bucky holding him close to his chest, breathing onto his neck and hair, his hand idly running up and down his arm. He feels good and he falls asleep satisfied and feeling like he’s 21 again back in that crappy old room in the apartment three blocks away from their college campus.

It feels like things are maybe starting to look up.

\--

Bucky starts off slow, giving just little snippets of his past at a time – enough to give him something to think about but not enough to make him have any big revelations about the kind of person he might’ve been.

There was something called the “super-soldier program” that the government was trying to do to give American soldiers the edge in the battlefield. Steve can tell how much Bucky disagrees with the idea just by the slight scathing look he makes when he mentions Steve wanting to volunteer for it.

‘How did I find out about it?’ Steve asks, curious because he knows his old body wouldn’t have been a viable candidate for joining the military, even on an experimental program.

‘You went in for a doctor’s appointment after getting into a fight with some guy who was being a dick to his boyfriend, the usual deal, except this other doctor comes into the room like he owns the place and flat-out asks if you like beating people up,’ he huffs, breathing through his nose like a bull but can’t help the smile as he says the next bit, ‘You said you didn’t like bullies, no matter if they were a guy or girl; if you could make a small difference then, by hell or high water, you were gonna damn well try it.’

‘Yeah, okay. I can believe that,’ he doesn’t recall a single thing but he knows himself well enough to remember that much; that it won’t be too hard a thing to imagine himself doing.

‘We talked about it. You wanted to go ahead with it but I didn’t,’ he pauses, looking to the side and biting the inside of his bottom lip, chewing slightly before continuing, ‘we almost broke up because of it.’

‘Oh...’ he frowns and looks down at his hands. He’s still not used to the size of them but at least he kind of knows that the “super-soldier program” worked in his favour. Sort of. ‘I’m glad we’re still together, despite everything.’

Bucky looks away from him, his lips at a downward turn and he mumbles, ‘Yeah,’ under his breath and remaining quiet about the rest of the memory.

Steve lets it go, and let’s himself absorb everything that Bucky’s told him. None of what Bucky says is making anything click in his head the way he was kind of hoping it would but he thinks, with a little bit more time and a little bit more talking then maybe it will. He tries to imagine the doctor’s office, the one he’s been going to ever since he was a kid. He wonders if Dr. Mendez is still there and if he’s still handing out those sugar-free lollipops to the people who ask, even the adults. He tries to remember what the other doctor looks like, too, the one who helped change his body from the skinny little thing full of problems and sickness to this one that’s tall, strong and steady in every way he can think of.

A part of him misses his old body but he doesn’t miss the scoliosis, the frequent colds, sore throats and occasional pneumonia, the flat feet, headaches, colour blindness and hard of hearing. He likes this new body with all its advantages too much to miss his old body and give it more thought a passing thought but he can tell, with the odd glance thrown his way here and there, that Bucky probably does.

He spends the rest of the afternoon drawing and thinking about everything that Bucky’s told him. There’s no spark of memory and he’s a little disappointed by that.

\--

The rest of the month passes like that; with Bucky sharing little pieces here and there after he’s home from work or back from running an errand. They eat together, knees knocking and feet touching, sometimes for breakfast but always together for dinner. Whenever Steve is in the bedroom drawing on the floor with his back to the bed then Bucky is behind him reading a book or doing some quick accounting for the garage. At the end of the day they always sleep in the same bed, their arms curled around each other, pulling their bodies close and closer still. Steve always wakes up thinking he’s 21 but it doesn’t take long for him to remember – just a quick glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows – that he’s actually already hit 30.

 _Yikes_ , he thinks to himself as he turns around in Bucky’s arm and watches him sleep.

Bucky’s stubble has grown a little bit thick but he always trims it down every morning, not a close-shave but just enough to leave a little bit of an edge to his face. It highlights his jaw line and Steve loves the feeling of it leaves on his skin. He never thought he’d come to love it but maybe it’s because it’s _Bucky_ so of course he’d love it the way he loves him.

They haven’t done more than hold each other at night, no more than a random touch here and there, the occasional hand to the back or a bump of their elbows. It’s been just under a month since he woke up in the hospital and Steve is burning for a reconnection.

He wants to kiss him. He remembers mornings like these where they wake each other up with little nips and bites and licks. He grins, can’t help feeling a little bit cheeky as he kisses him on his lips, softly at first and then moving on to the corner of his mouth, at the edge of his jaw, down his neck until he feels the brunet stir.

Steve lays his lips on the Adam’s apple, feels and hears the groan coming out from Bucky’s throat. The rumble sends a little shiver of anticipation down his spine as he kisses some more, waiting for him to get on with the program but then Bucky freezes, his fingers gripping tight into his shirt and Steve looks up to see wide eyes looking back at him, a little furrow of panic between his eyebrows.

‘Bucky?’ He starts, moving backwards a little bit to see what’s wrong.

The brunet is holding his breath as his eyes rove over Steve’s face. He doesn’t know what happened or what he did wrong. He says his name again, a little scared, but then Bucky lets out a long whoosh of air, turning into the pillow and shaking his head a little bit.

‘Sorry, you caught me by surprise.’

‘I’m guessing I don’t wake you up with kisses anymore?’ He tries to joke but it comes out a little flat and a little sad. Waking Bucky up with kisses has always been something he’s enjoyed doing but he supposes nine years is a long time to lose a habit.

‘Nah,’ he mumbles into the pillow before he turns to give Steve a smile that’s shaky at the corners, ‘we haven’t shared a bed for this long since before you joined the army.’

‘What, I don’t come back here on my days off?’ He asks, feeling incredulous that he’d go anywhere else but next to Bucky.

‘You only get leave maybe once every six or so months, usually for about a week or two but sometimes for just a few days.’

‘Yuck.’

That gets a laugh out of Bucky, and it’s not long before they both get up and out of bed, not really addressing the fact that the old (new?) Steve is practically married to his military life. Bucky doesn’t seem to want to talk about it but Steve wonders how their relationship works now with him being overseas most of the year and only coming back for two weeks or less at a time. Their relationship doesn’t sound healthy but it’s been nine years and they’re still together so obviously something they’re doing must be working.

He just hopes he remembers soon enough so they can keep on going.

Breakfast is just toast with butter and jam but Steve can’t eat more than a couple of slices before he starts feeling a little bit sick with anxiety. They have to leave the apartment in about twenty minutes so they can make their way to the hospital for a check-up on his brain and do a couple more tests. Steve doesn’t mind the thought of seeing Bruce again and maybe talk to him a little bit more about how their work relates to one another. He hasn’t really talked to another person on the regular outside of Bucky because, honestly, he hadn’t needed anybody else other than Bucky when they were growing up but he knows he must’ve made some new acquaintances after he’d joined the army and he’s curious to know who they are and what they know about him.

He leaves his plate and cutlery in the sink, puts the jam back into the fridge along with the milk. He changes into a pair of jeans, a shirt and a jacket, slipping his wallet into his pocket and pulling on a watch that Bucky says belongs to him.

‘You ready?’ The brunet asks when he leaves their bedroom.

He shrugs, tries not to look as nervous as he feels. ‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

Bucky nods and opens the door. ‘Alright; let’s go.’

They make the short walk to the subway, talking about nothing in particular and pointing out to restaurants that Steve’s never been to before that Bucky promises they’ll try one day. He can’t help but smile at the idea, bumping into his shoulder and reaching over to pull Bucky’s hand out of his pockets so he can hold them. He tightens his grip and he feels the brunet squeeze once before loosening his hold, comfortable with letting Steve do all the hand-holding.

It takes them another twenty minutes to get to the hospital and another twenty more of sitting around until a familiar face comes into the waiting room for them.

Bruce isn’t wearing his doctor’s white jacket, keeping it casual in just a pair of khakis and a light purple shirt. He apologizes that he’s not better prepared; he’d just arrived from DC just a couple of hours ago and the room they allowed him to borrow is a bit of a mess mostly from his own papers, folders and briefcase that looks like it exploded upon releasing the clasps holding it shut. There’s a tablet on the desk with the screen turned off and an inspirational quote hanging next to the framed degrees on the wall. The room belongs to a Dr. Amelia Sarah Roberts but she’s apparently on a short holiday for the moment visiting relatives so the room is free for Bruce to use for the time being.

‘Okay, so fill me in on what you’ve been up to since I last saw you,’ Bruce starts as he sits down behind the desk, switching on the table and adjusting his glasses on his nose as the screen lights up blue.

‘I’ve been drawing a lot, sleeping a lot, eating a lot and Bucky’s been talking to me a little about what I’ve been missing out on the last nine years,’ he says as he looks over at the brunet sitting next to him, fingers woven together and thumbs twiddling. ‘I was hoping they’d jog my memories but I haven’t gotten much back.’

‘Is there anything you do remember, though?’ He asks as he puts the tablet down, the screen still glowing.

He shakes his head slightly, ‘Ah, well, I don’t really remember a whole lot, maybe just bits and pieces here and there. Not enough for a whole picture but just...an overall feeling, I guess?’

‘What kind of feeling?’ He asks, curious and unlike what a therapist’s tone might convey.

‘Like...’ he frowns, trying to think up of the best word to describe it and, after some pondering, eventually settles on contentment.

Bruce smiles, seemingly pleased by even this small amount. ‘This is going to sound like a weird question but do you know how old you think you might be when you experience this feeling?’

He laughs, ‘Honestly, I have no clue.’

‘It’s okay. When we dream we don’t know how old we are or what we look like because our subconscious is already aware of all these things and won’t clutter everything up with unnecessary details. Although in saying that, some of our dreams are just weird.’

Steve laughs again and finds himself really enjoying Bruce’s company. ‘Well, I wouldn’t mind the unnecessary details right about now.’

‘I can just about imagine,’ he smiles as he picks up the tablet again and taps at a few things on the screen. ‘Okay, we’ll move on to the more serious questions and then get started on a couple of tests, alright?’

‘Sure,’ he nods and mentally prepares himself for it.

‘Have you experienced any headaches since you’ve been released?’

‘No, none.’

‘Good. What about your eating habits and sleeping habits? Are you fairly regularly with those or are some days harder than the rest?’

‘I slept a lot the first couple of days but I levelled out eventually. I eat a lot, too, more than I usually would but I assume it’s because of the new changes as opposed to being greedy.’

‘That sounds perfectly normal.’

‘Cool,’ he beams, feeling better about the appointment. He thinks about the dread that used to hover over his shoulder whenever he came to visit the doctor for one sickness or another, maybe a cracked bone from a bad fight or an ulcer from too much stress at college. He’s never felt this optimistic about his health until today with Bruce’s reassurances giving him the boost he never thought he’d ever receive.

They spend the next fifteen minutes going through questions with Bucky pitching in an answer whenever he can. They talk a little about how much information has been shared with regards to Steve’s memories of the last nine years and Bruce occasionally frowns in concentration but doesn’t tell Bucky to stop what it is he’s doing. Steve can’t help but breathe a small sigh of relief that asking questions about their lives aren’t going to be a bad thing; that it doesn’t need to stop.

He’s desperate for every scrap he can get and Bucky is oddly frugal about it.

Eventually, they leave the office and head down to another room where Steve can change into a set of scrubs for a brain scan just to see how well he’s recovering and to compare the scans they took from almost a month ago. Bruce is positive that there will be some signs of improvement and Steve almost can’t lie still in anticipation of it.

Bucky holds onto his hand tightly as Steve shifts on the flatbed. It feels small, or maybe he’s just extra big now. Bruce is still preparing a couple of things and gives them their privacy as he putters around with a chart and with the help of a couple of attendants.

Steve feels the grip on his hand tighten more and more as the minutes pass by and it’s only now that he notices that Bucky is nervous. ‘Hey, they say it’s going to be okay; nothing to worry about.’

The brunet gives him a weak smile, but relents and loosens his hold a little bit. He doesn’t say a word as Bruce ushers him out into the next room and Steve is left alone breathing through his nose as evenly as he can. He closes his eyes at the start of the small hum surrounding him and waits for further instructions.

He thinks back on Bucky’s face before he left the room – worry etched onto the lines between his eyebrows he looked over his shoulder at Steve one more time before he’s out the door. The last time he’d seen that look was when he’d gotten sick with pneumonia paired with a high enough fever that he needed to be carried to the hospital. That was probably a year ago now, or ten if he’s counting it properly.

Steve lets out a slow breath through his nose as he listens to the whirr of the machinery and wonders if he’ll ever remember anything.

\--

Before they leave the hospital Bruce takes him aside to talk to him privately, going back into the borrowed room and closing the door behind them while Bucky waits outside.

Steve settles back on the chair while Bruce takes the seat that Bucky had used previously. He’s a little surprised that he’s not sitting behind the desk but he likes that the brunet is not aiming for professional but is choosing to treat him as an equal instead.

‘Your scans are looking good but I have to tell you that it’s going to take some time before you’re fully recovered. You might also need to prepare yourself for the possibility that you don’t recall anything.’

‘Oh,’ his optimism fades a little bit but he tries not to let that be his sole focus; he still has a chance of recovering something, however slim that chance might be.

‘I know this sounds hard so I’d like to offer you a suggestion.’

‘Okay.’

‘Focus less on trying to get back what’s lost; make new memories instead. If you do end up recalling the last nine years then great! But don’t let your past become a burden to you; life is too short to be dwelling on the things that are gone.’

‘Yeah,’ he nods even though he feels sick at the thought that he won’t remember what it’s like to spend the last nine years with Bucky, even on and off. ‘I understand. I’ve watched a movie like that; I guess I could use that as a tip.’

Bruce smiles encouragingly as he stands up and offers a hand to him. ‘Thank you, and good luck. I wish you all the best, Steve.’

‘Thanks, and see you next time?’

‘Yes, I’ll call you to let you know when I’ll be back up to the city. We’ll set up a time and hopefully I can get my own place ready for us in the New York offices.’

Steve leaves the room after another goodbye and tries not to let his disappointment show when he sees Bucky waiting for him just down the hallway but he can tell that he’s not doing a very good job of hiding it. Despite this, Bucky doesn’t probe and easily lets it go after a suggestion of going to a nearby cafe. Steve doesn’t think he can stomach any food but he wouldn’t mind a good strong cup of coffee.

He’s got a lot of thinking to do.

\--

 


	4. Chapter 4

Steve realizes that he can’t solely depend on Bucky to help him remember things; it’s not fair on either of them so he’s started leaving the apartment during the hours that Bucky is away at work by going to the park, snacking at a couple of small cafes, reading up on the news and even going so far as to google himself. The internet is surprisingly informative about him being a successful candidate to the “super-soldier program” and his military career but not much else.

He reads up on the success story that even includes a before-and-after photo of himself once the procedure was done. He cringes a little bit at the obvious differences in himself now that can see them side-by-side – how almost every bone in his body was jutting out and obvious under his pale skin. He learns of the men whom were responsible for making this all possible and for affording Steve the opportunity but he also learns how Dr. Abraham Erskine and Howard Stark were killed shortly after this accomplishment. The webpage finishes on the killer having committed suicide after the act.

There’s an article following that on Howard Stark’s son; Anthony Stark, and how he seemed to care extremely little on the death of his father, citing that “he was hardly ever around once mum died, so, not like this is gonna change much,” and _ouch_ , harsh much? Despite his words, Steve can see the grief hidden in the bags under his eyes, the sunken cheeks and in the frown of his lips.

He’s a captain, apparently; a leader to a unit of men dubbed the “Howling Commandos”. The article even features a little bit on a few members of another group called the Avengers. Including himself there are eight men in the group and he feels a sudden rush of pride at the sight of them, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a grin on their faces despite the safety of the world heavy on their backs. Steve himself stands front and center while the others flank him. There’s a man next to him on his left with a bushy mustache and a non-regulation bowler hat. He’s got a cheeky look in his eyes with a quirk in his lips as he looks at the camera with an arm slung around an Asian man with an unlit cigarette sticking out of his mouth. The two men next to them have their arms draped across their shoulders, their skin tone light and dark that makes Steve think of the ebony and ivory keys on a piano. They look like they’re laughing at an inside joke and a quick read tells him that they’re the linguists of the group, responsible for translating and communications.

On the other side of him stands a man with a straight posture, a trimmed mustache and a non-regulation red beret. The come-hither look in his eyes and the smirk on his lips makes Steve crack a smile. Beside him stands another dark-skinned man with a charming gap-toothed smile, his hands holding onto the belt of his uniform but Steve can see a gloved hand on his shoulder that must belong to the dirty-haired blond next to him, cheeks freckled from his time spent in the sun.

He reads all of their names in order – Riley Davis, Sam Wilson, James Falsworth, Steve Rogers, Timothy Dugan, James Morita, Gabe Jones, and Jacques Dernier. Reading the articles and seeing them hasn’t shaken any memories loose but he feels a sense of companionship just seeing their faces, like someone he hasn’t spoken with in a long time but can easily pick up where they last left off.

The door behind him opens up and he looks over his shoulder to see Bucky come in with a bag of groceries and another one with tonight’s dinner. He greets Steve as usual but pauses when he notices the picture that he was looking at.

‘You sure you should be reading that?’ He asks as he carefully lays down the bags onto the dining table, his movements slow and cautious.

He shrugs, ‘Don’t see why not. Was hoping it’d help but...’ he trails off, letting Bucky finish that sentence however he likes. He turns back to the tablet and closes out of the webpage before switching off the whole thing.

‘I’m sorry; you’re probably frustrated about that,’ he says as Steve starts putting away the milk and eggs into the fridge along with the sliced ham and cheese. He leaves the bread out on the pantry, next to the butter while Bucky unpacks their dinner of Vietnamese noodles and something that smells like lemongrass.

‘Yeah, well,’ he shrugs again. He thinks back on what Bruce told him back at the hospital, to make new memories and prepare for the chance that he might never remember whatever it is he lost. He’s not sure if he can, and he’s not sure how he’s gonna be able to move on without those memories to help him. Does he go back to the military? Or should he use that degree he graduated college with and find a job as an animator? He doesn’t know what options are available to him and what path he’s supposed to take. He feels conflicted now that he knows the 30-year old Steve found a different calling than the one he had previously pursued.

‘Hey, hey,’ Bucky murmurs softly, coming up behind Steve and wrapping his arms around his waist. He’s become more open about touching now. Not as much as his old Bucky did but more than he’s given since Steve had woken up missing nine years from his head. ‘I can see your gears turning and smoke comin’ outta your ears.’

‘Buck, I...’ he sighs and holds onto Bucky’s forearms, looking down at their arms pressed together, ‘I don’t know what to do from here.’

‘Just,’ Bucky starts, squeezing a little tighter around him, pulling him close, ‘just do what you’ve always done; move doggedly towards the future.’

‘But I’m missing so much, I just—I’m a 21-year old guy in a 30-year old man’s body. It’s...where do I even start from here?’

The brunet shakes his head slightly in answer, ‘One step at a time, that’s all you can do. That’s all we can ever do,’ Bucky continues to talk into his shoulder, offering warmth and comfort.

Steve trembles where he stands in the middle of their kitchen and fears, for the first time since he was a child, the unknown. He’s thankful he has Bucky with him; he doesn’t know where he’d be otherwise. He doesn’t cry but he feels unbelievably scared and unsure whether he can take Bruce’s advice to heart.

Their dinner cools down behind them and it’s a while longer before they detach themselves from one another to eat, sitting side by side on the couch to watch a couple of videos of the Howling Commandos dicking around at the base camp during their downtime surrounded by flying dust and the bone-dry desert.

There’s a kinship there and a part of Steve misses that, too.

\--

He leaves the apartment one day while Bucky is busy at work to buy paints, canvases, a set of brushes and an easel because chances are good that he got rid of most of his art supplies when he dropped animating and drawing full time for a job with the army instead. So he’s got a bed sheet that he took from the very bottom of the cupboard and spread out on the floor with the easel set right on top of it near the windows. He wants to paint for a while and then hopefully leave enough time before Bucky’s home to air out the bedroom so it doesn’t stink of oils and acrylics.

Steve’s mixing a couple of colours onto the palette when a sudden shiver of dread crawls up his spine. He pauses and forces himself to breathe deeply through his nose, eyes focussed unseeingly onto the muddled paint. He has to physically shake himself away from that feeling and just mix, mix, mix; think of nothing else.

It’s a little bit like riding the bike again; all he has to do is pick up a brush, dab some paint onto it and let his imagination flow. But then again, it’s only been a few months, maybe half a year max, since he “technically” last painted anything.

He doesn’t realize how angry he feels about how little he’s remembering until he’s painted a majority of the canvas a dark red color with bits of brownish-green slashed in with a palette knife. He swipes a pale blue the color of thunder into the inky darkness and melds it in with the still-wet paint, forking it across the width and length of the canvas.

Steve doesn’t have a clear picture in mind, doesn’t really know what to do or what he’s aiming for but he pours out his frustration using paint as the medium and hopes, with each swipe and pass of the brushstroke, that someyhing will eventually give.

Turns out that paint doesn’t have a lot to give other than a strong smell that won’t leave the room even well into the night. Bucky doesn’t mind, though; tells him he’s happy to see Steve paint again after so long.

The canvas is drying on the easel and Steve simultaneously likes and hates it. The colours feel like dread and hopelessness and a part of him wonders if Bucky can pick up the emotion from looking at the strokes of paint alone or just from reading his mood. He kind of wants to hide it in the closet once it’s dry so he can put his shame away and try to look forward to a future instead.

He wants a future, and he wants it with Bucky, so he vows to update his resume in the next coming days and add a few more pictures into his portfolio because he doubts he’ll be able to continue with the military career as he is now – he definitely isn’t captain-material anymore. He’ll need to buy a desktop and a drawing tablet and see if the programs he’d used nine years ago are still good for today or if there are better options for illustrating out there. He wants to try. He _will_ try.

Bucky’s arms tighten around his waist as he snores quietly into the back of Steve’s neck. He lets the sound of his breathing lull him to sleep.

\--

They’ve run out of milk. He remembers Bucky saying so just before he left in the morning but Steve doesn’t register it until he spots the empty bottle lying in the cardboard box full of stuff to throw into the recycling as he’s making coffee and there’s no milk to top it off with.

He sighs, drinks his coffee black and makes a quick shopping list of things he might as well buy at the same time as the milk, adding on things for the lasagne he plans to make for the night’s dinner and checking the freezer to see if they’ve got enough shredded cheese left or not.

They don’t.

Steve decides to go to the shop a few blocks further away from the one they usually go to because it’s been a while since he’s been out and he needs the exercise. He’s gained a bit of weight and lost some muscle mass but he’s never been the kind of person to buy a monthly membership to a gym (because he’d been skinny and _broke_ ) and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to keep the habit even as he is now. He hasn’t developed the mindset or the religious way some people keep to a workout schedule.

The shop isn’t busy when he arrives and there’s a lack of a queue in each of the check-outs so he decides he can afford to take his time as he picks up a basket and starts going through the fruit and vegetable section, having a quick stroll through the alcoholic aisle before going to grab a bag of plain flour to make the cheese sauce with.

He’d just picked up a couple of boxes of curly lasagne sheets and put them into the basket when a little girl barrels right into his legs and starts calling him “uncle, uncle”.

Steve tries not to let seem too freaked out as he stares down at the girl with a wide-eyed look and an unnaturally wide smile showing off all his teeth. ‘Hey, little miss!’

She giggles, loud and high-pitched as she jumps up and down still holding onto his knee, ‘Uncle Steve!’ She practically screams and then launches about how she was just thinking about him this morning and now here he is.

He takes a good look at her and feels sorry that he absolutely cannot recall who the little girl is. She doesn’t look older than five so it’s definitely within the missing time frame of his head. She looks familiar in a way he can’t quite put a finger on as he kneels down to her eye level so she doesn’t have to keep craning her neck up to look at him, listening to her babble on excitedly and catching him up on all the things he’s apparently missed. She’d recently been a part of the school play and she got to be one of the fairies that Cynthia had been very jealous of. He nods and smiles and finally looks up when he sees a pair of boots come up behind the little girl and makes eye contact with the worried red head with an apologetic smile.

The little girl looks like the mother with her button nose and full lips, her reddish brown hair a combination of both parents but her eyes and her chin must obviously belong to her father, whoever he might be. He feels a wave of nostalgia even though he hardly remembers her from before but she’s familiar in a way he’s immediately comfortable with. Maybe she’s the daughter of one of the men he worked with together in the military and he’s about to ask her just as soon as she takes a break from her storytelling when she suddenly switches gears and asks when he’ll come back to visit again.

‘Mama Nat and Papa Buck keeps telling me that you’re not feeling good but you’re here shopping so you must be better. You’ll come to dinner with us tonight, right? Papa Buck says he’s been staying with you to help you get back on your feet but you’re already back on your feet so you can come have dinner with us!’

That’s when it clicks – the pale blue eyes and the dimpled chin; the familiarity, the nostalgia and the comfort, because he’s looking at a miniature Bucky. Bucky has a kid. Bucky has a kid with the red-head beauty of a woman.

And he didn’t know.

The little girl keeps on talking, oblivious to his internal dilemma, and he finds his smile for her slowly slipping, slipping, slipping away as he thinks of all the days when Bucky left the apartment to run some errands, or the times when he comes home later than usual, or the phone calls he makes outside the apartment where his conversation can’t be heard. Bucky had always said they were for work but he thinks maybe it’s for this little girl instead; this life that the brunet built for himself that doesn’t include Steve in it.

‘Mama Nat’s making Sunday roast even though it’s Thursday today so I’m happy you get to eat with us. I know you like Mama Nat’s cooking because you said so.’

‘Lily,’ the lady cuts in after giving Steve another fleeting look that looks partially like guilt and a little bit anxious, ‘he’s not coming over to dinner—’

Steve barrels over her and says: _sure, I am_ , ‘How about I make apple pie for dessert, huh?’ He asks, fixes the smile back on his face, and it gets a delighted scream out of her as she says it’s her absolute favourite and that Uncle Steve makes the best apple pie _ever_.

It’s another few minutes before the little girls decides to make him pinky promise to come over later with the apple pie, waving goodbye as she and her mother walk down the aisle.

Steve stands back up and revises the shopping list since he’s not making lasagne for dinner tonight anymore. He goes back to the fruit and vegetable section and picks a half dozen green apples and a lemon and has absolutely no doubt that the lady, Mama Nat, must be calling _Papa Buck_ as soon as they’re out of the store. His mind goes numb as he goes back to the baking section to pick up some cinnamon sticks and brown sugar, tries to cool down where the butters are and figure out which of the new brands is the best for the pastry, something unsalted.

He’s home and in the middle of cutting up the apples to mix in with the cinnamon, sugar and lemon when Bucky comes rushing into the apartment, breathing heavily and panicked.

‘Steve,’ he pants, ‘I can explain.’

He doesn’t turn around, keeps his focus on cutting the apples up the way he remembers his ma doing. He doesn’t know what to say, or what to think of the man he’d been living with for almost two months. It feels like a lot of the things suddenly make sense to him now, the lack of physical affection, how they don’t have any photographs together anymore, the unwillingness to talk about their relationship because _there is none_.

‘I didn’t know how to bring it up and the doctors said you needed something and someone familiar so I—’

‘Okay, sure,’ he dismisses as he slides the apple pieces into the mixing bowl and starts tossing them all together to get them evenly coated with the cinnamon and sugar. He grabs the chilled pastry dish out of the fridge and spoons in the mixture, topping it off with another chilled pastry and using the off-cuts to make little leaves as decorations. He crimps the edges and ignores Bucky hovering in his peripheral vision as he pricks the top and generously brushes the egg-wash onto the pie.

He slides the whole thing into the oven and sets the timer for it, keeping his back to Bucky and tries to breathe around the ache in his heart.

‘It’s okay, Buck; you don’t have to play pretend anymore.’

‘No, Steve, I—’

‘Pie will be ready in about 45 minutes,’ he says as he skirts around Bucky and goes into the bedroom, locking the door behind him and only leaving when the alarm goes off loud and shrill.

Bucky’s sitting at the dining table, hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it, and his eyes go immediately to the small duffle bag in Steve’s hands, his expression becoming more pinched and guilt-ridden. Steve puts the bag down as he turns off the alarm, putting on the oven mitts to pull out the pie. It’s golden brown and smells exactly like his ma used to make, the caramel of the cinnamon and sugar oozing out of the pricked holes at the top of the crust.

‘Come on, Steve, please don’t go,’ he begs, a hint of desperation coming through as he stands up, his chair scratching a little on the floor but not moving an inch closer.

‘I can get by on my own.’

Steve is just closing the oven door and switching it off when he hears Bucky say, ‘You don’t have to.’

He stares hard at the golden crust, wishing the smell and the heat of it could meld together the pieces of his broken heart but it only makes it worse. He grits his teeth together as he carefully puts the pie into a cake container he’d found in the back of the pantry that had smelled like old and musty butter before he washed it. He picks up his bag and slings it over his shoulder before he grabs the pie.

‘Let’s go.’

He’s a flight of stairs down before he hears Bucky leave the apartment behind him, moving quickly after him but slowing down once he catches up. He waits for Bucky to lead once they hit the bottom of the building and refuses to walk beside him, opting to remain one step back. He can see Bucky biting his lip, throwing glances over his shoulder to him but Steve keeps his eyes resolutely in the middle distance.

They arrive at the apartment early but the little girl, whose name he learns is Liliana, doesn’t seem to mind one bit. Steve can see the photos on the wall, the drawn pictures stuck to the fridge, there’s even a couple he can recognize drawn in his own style and he knows now that whatever place he had left in Bucky’s life it was never that of lover, not anymore. The apartment is well-lived in, completely unlike the one they’d left previously.

Dinner is delicious and awkward, the mood which Liliana doesn’t notice or care for as she talks enough for the three of them. Dessert is the most anticipated event of the night for the little girl as she digs into the slice of apple pie and ignores the vanilla ice cream that it was served with.

Steve smiles as he watches her eat and giggle around the spoon in her mouth, paying no attention to the mother and father. He can’t stay mad at Bucky or even jealous at Natasha because the both of them gave birth to a beautiful little girl but he can’t help the feeling of loss and heartbreak as he stands to leave barely ten minutes once the last bite has been consumed. He wishes Lily goodnight and doesn’t promise anything he can’t keep.

He takes what little he’s got and doesn’t look back as he shuts the door behind him. He pushes for the elevator and listens to it whirr closer towards him.

‘Steve, wait.’

The doors _ding_ on arrival but he doesn’t move, eyeing the dirty floor and the harsh yellow light of the lifts. He stops the doors from closing on him when no other word leaves Bucky, the coolness of the metal door a momentary distraction. He’s got the button for the ground floor lit up when he hears Bucky like he did that day he woke up in the hospital with no memory of the last nine years.

‘Please, Steve.’

He dares to look at him as the doors are closing and finds his heart breaking even more at the tears in the man’s eyes but he keeps his mouth firmly shut, jaw clenched tight. When he leaves the building he feels the wind blow at his wet cheeks and his lungs shuddering beneath his rib cage.

His head hurts, his heart hurts, his eyes hurt and he misses Bucky already.

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh...it's about 13 chapters long now. I've underestimated how much detail I wanted to include in the story because I skim over it so quickly in my writing plan so when I think it's only going to be so-and-so words and chapters long it turns out to be a little longer than that. It may...extend more again in the future but for now, I'm keeping it at 13 chapters long. Whoop!!


	5. Chapter 5

The motel he spends the night in is a little musty, filled with just the barest of essentials but already enough to make the space small and cramped. It reminds him a lot of the old apartment he used to rent with Bucky and the thought is enough to make him switch off the lights to shut out the memory. He drops his bag by the bedside table and crashes on top of the covers, the generic smell of washing detergent wafting up into his nose familiar and unwanted. It’s barely half past seven but he calls it a night, pulling the other corner of the bed sheet around him until he’s all wrapped up without bothering to take off his shoes. The bed is tiny but he’s slept in tinier ones with Bucky and he has to tell himself to _stop_ , otherwise he’ll never be able to let go of the hurt crowding around his heart.

It takes him hours before he ends up falling asleep.

\--

The world hasn’t stopped overnight but he never expected it to as he sits on the curb outside of the motel with his bag on his lap and wondering what he should be doing next, how he’s gonna do it and, mostly importantly, where he can actually _go_. The 30-year old Steve might have army friends he could fall back on in hard times but the 21-year old Steve didn’t have any friends outside of Bucky – his temper too high and his emotions too volatile for most people who didn’t grow up used to it – and he’s out of the picture.

He’s left hanging and wondering what to do with himself because, despite saying that he make get by on his own, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still missing nine years of his life. He doesn’t actually know anybody outside of Bucky and Bruce but the doctor doesn’t actually work in New York so he’s left himself in a bit of a lurch.

Steve definitely doesn’t want to go back to that apartment, impersonal to the core and an absolute sham since he’d woken up. He's considering taking the metro to a park and maybe playing things by ear when a car pulls up right in front of him and rolls its’ window down.

‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ The man beams as he pulls off his sunglasses. ‘Imagine that; I’m just thinking to myself that I gotta get this ice cream back home before it melts and next thing I know I’m shouting at the top of my lungs: _Steve_!’

He can’t help the laugh bubbling out of his throat as he takes in the dark-skinned man and his gap-toothed grin. ‘Hey, Sam,’ he greets, feeling a small part of his emotions easing at the sight of him, like a piece of a puzzle fitting back into place.

‘Come on, we gotta catch up; it’s been too long, man,’ he says as he slings over to the passenger side to get the door open. ‘I’m glad to see you all better again.’

‘Thanks,’ he says as he gets up, compelled to get into the car with what, technically, is a total stranger to him. ‘I don’t know if they told you about...’ he trails off as he waves a hand around his head and hopes the other is able to fill in the blanks on his own.

‘Yeah,’ he frowns a little as he puts the car into gear and drives to who knows where, ‘I heard some things about it but not a whole lot. They just told me that you were with a friend, recovering.’

‘That’s about the gist of it,’ he finishes with a shrug, feeling uncomfortable at the thought of Bucky, still angry and frustrated and betrayed.

‘Well, you can fill me in over breakfast,’ he grins as he drums his fingers on the steering wheel, jittering a little bit in his seat. ‘Man, it’s so good to see you again. It’s been ages!’

‘I, ah...I read about you, online,’ he says haltingly, wanting to make sure it’s clear that he doesn’t actually remember a whole lot in regards to their working relationship.

‘Oh, yeah, google is your best friend. How much did you read about us, huh?’ He asks as he makes a turn into a street and keeps driving on straight.

‘Let’s just say that the only reason why I didn’t freak out back there when you pulled up next to me is thanks to the fact that I know we worked together in the Howling Commandos.’

‘Sheesh,’ he shakes his head as he slows down at a red light, ‘Rumlow really did a number on you, huh?’

‘Who?’

Sam stares at him for a moment, eyes flitting around his face as if he’s looking for something, before he turns back to the front. ‘I’ll tell you about it later when we get back. That ain’t a conversation to be having without something to drink.’

‘Okay, if you say so,’ he allows as Sam pulls his foot off the brake and accelerates at the green light.

It’s another ten or so minutes of light conversation before they turn into a semi-suburban area and park in a driveway of a single-storey house. Steve gets out and feels a wave of nostalgia and he thinks, maybe, he’s stayed here a while before. He doesn’t recall anything about it but, just like when he first saw the man, he feels another piece slowly slot back into place and it is a comfort.

‘Alright, help me with the bags so we only need to make one trip inside,’ Sam grunts as he juggles out three large paper bags from the trunk of the car. ‘I usually only do this kind of grocery shopping once a week but _damn_ is it a pain whenever I get home with half the store in my car.’

Steve laughs but slings his duffel over his shoulder and helps to grab the last three bags, carefully shutting the boot after giving it a quick check to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind before trailing after the other man inside his home. He follows the noise of Sam opening and closing cupboards as he’s putting away the groceries into their proper place. Steve leaves the bags on the kitchen counter and decides to stay out of the way. The place might feel a little bit like home to him but he wouldn’t know where the cans go or where to put the snacks and cereal boxes away. He sits by the counter with his bag by his feet, making light conversation and listening to Sam share his memories of their time in the army while he makes them something to eat.

‘The boys missed you,’ Sam says as he gives a quick look at Steve over his shoulder, pulling the bacon off the pan and starting up on the next batch.

‘Yeah? Are they around?’ He asks as he pops in another two pieces of bread into the toaster, eager to meet the rest of the group. He wonders why Bucky never told him that Sam was living in New York, but feels incredibly thankful that they ran into each other today of all days. It feels a little bit like the world realigning itself, or God watching out for him.

‘Nah, it’s just me and Riley back stateside at the moment, as far as I know; the others are still working to save the world,’ he smiles fondly as he pushes the bacon in the grease and swears a little at the pop of fat that lands on his arm.

Steve remembers Riley from the articles. He stood side-by-side with Sam for most of them. He wonders if they’re partners in every sense of the word and not just for the duration of their military careers. He’s just about to ask where Riley might be when he hears another door open up somewhere else in the house and a _thud-clunk_ , _thud-clunk_ , of someone coming closer towards them.

‘I smell bacon,’ a dirty-haired blond grumbles as he rounds the corner on a single crutch, his eyes narrowed and hair a mess like he’d just woken up, but as soon as he notices Steve sitting at the kitchen counter he positively beams and wakes up at the sight of him, ‘Cap!!’ He shouts as he hobbles quicker towards him, almost dropping his crutch as he reaches him for a bone-crushing hug. ‘It’s so fucking good to see you! Why didn’t you wake me up?!’ He turns to question Sam who shrugs and says he was too busy cooking bacon for three.

‘Ain’t my fault that you can’t get your white ass outta bed,’ he smirks as he dishes the last of the bacon and puts the plate next to the scrambled eggs, buttered spinach and a whole loaf worth of toasted bread.

‘At least you make a decent wife, huh?’ He retorts, unable to dodge the towel whip aimed at his backside. Sam is rewarded with a yelp of pain.

Steve laughs at their interaction, feeling himself unwind at their company, and helps grab a few plates out from the pantry and some cutleries to eat with. Sam and Riley spend the meal time throwing out anecdotes and stories from their years working together in the army, most of them funny to the point where Steve almost spits milk out of his nose.

‘You did that on purpose, jerk!’ He shouts as he dabs a tissue at the spots of milk on the table around him, his shoulder loose with laughter.

‘Of course I did, Cap.  Anything to get potential stories of embarrassment back to the boys,’ Riley grins smugly as he stuffs a bite of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

‘Speaking of,’ Sam cuts in after he swallows down a bit of his breakfast sandwich, ‘we’re doing another skype session with them tomorrow. Wanna join us? They’ll be glad to see you.’

He perks up at the sound of that, happy and thankful for the opportunity. ‘Yeah, that sounds awesome.’

‘Cool,’ he grins and they continue on making easy conversation taking about everything and nothing of importance.

Sam and Riley are laid back, carefree and easy-going and doesn’t make anything awkward despite that Steve doesn’t remember them a whole lot but it’s evident that they’re good friends with one another. It’s not until breakfast is cleared away and the dishes are waiting to be cleaned in the dishwasher that the three of them sit down in the living room to talk a little bit about what put Steve in the hospital back stateside in the first place.

‘Look, I gotta be honest; I’m surprised nobody touched base with you since you woke up,’ Sam starts as he blows a little into his cup of tea. ‘I sort of expected Phillips to at least get in touch with you.’

He remembers reading about a Colonel Phillips; one of the commanding officers for the Howling Commandos. He has no doubt that he would’ve communicated and gone through mission plans with the man when he was still a captain of the team. He nods and then shrugs, ‘Maybe he doesn’t need me anymore since I don’t actually remember any of my time in the army.’

‘No way,’ Riley cuts in with a shake of his head, ‘the two of you were close. He gave you shit because at the end of the day he’s still our CO but he cares for all of us, you especially because he was there when you were still the runt of the litter.’

‘Oh,’ he feels a little touched by that and a little down that Phillips never got in contact with him. He doesn’t remember talking to this man ever but he thinks he would’ve liked to sit and talk over the phone; catch up.

‘Okay. How about we try and get the boys to see if Phillips is around for a quick chat during our skype call, huh?’ Sam suggests after drinking a quarter of his tea, something that immediately appeases the downward shift in Steve’s mood.

‘Yeah, I’d like that, thanks,’ he smiles, feeling grateful for the company he’s found.

He chuckles at that, ‘Don’t thank me yet.’

‘Thanks for trying anyway, it means a lot to me.’

‘Sure thing, Cap,’ he salutes before standing up, going back into the kitchen and picking up the kettle to add a bit more water into the mug, filling it up before rejoining them on the couches.

Steve turns back to Riley when he catches the other man shift and wince a little in his seat. ‘You said the both of us got out at around the same time, right? What happened?’ He asks Riley, eyeing the crutch and hoping he’s not being nosy about it. It’s been over a year, he’s pretty sure, and he wonders how bad it must be that he’s still in need of support.

‘Bad accident for me. Or, not so much a bad accident as it was...bad intel,’ he shrugs as he grabs a throw pillow from the other side of the couch and puts it behind him, adjusting it until he’s comfortable. ‘I’m doing alright, for the most part but some days are just a little harder than the rest. Has Sam told you much about Rumlow, yet?’

‘Only that he’s bad news.’

Riley snorts, ‘Yeah, understatement of the year. Our last missions didn’t turn out too well and he took it personally.’

Steve feels a little shudder at the words but continues to listen as Riley explains a portion of their last job, how it was supposed to be a low-casualty kind of mission but ended up blowing up in their faces instead due to the involvement of the “special ops” team that Rumlow ran. He talks a little about how he was literally shot out of the air, how a machine gun riddled bullets through his wing and he fell. If it weren’t for Sam he would’ve been dead meat; just a splat of red on the dirt ground.

‘I’m glad you’re still around,’ Steve tells him sincerely, holding out a hand and grabbing Riley’s shoulder for a squeeze of reassurance.

‘Believe me, so am I,’ he laughs a little, looking at Sam with a look of utter relief in his eyes, like a miracle witnessed.

They spend a good portion of the day catching each other up. Steve tells them what he’s been doing since he left the hospital; not much, while Sam and Riley tell him what they’ve been up to since Riley’s been discharged due to grievous injuries upon persons and Sam took leave from the military while he recovered from the emotional trauma.

‘We’ve been going to the VA twice a week if we can make it. I know it wouldn’t do much for you but you used to go if you could whenever you were back stateside,’ Sam tells him as he drinks the last of his cold tea and puts it on the coffee table, leaning back on the couch and pulling a casual arm on the backrest where Riley’s shoulders are. Close but not touching.

‘Yeah? I don’t mind going with you. Bruce told me I shouldn’t focus so hard on trying to remember everything; if it comes then it comes. He also told me to prepare for the possibility that I’m...uh...going to be missing nine years for the rest of my life,’ he finishes quietly, feeling discouraged at the thought.

Sam grimaces at that, ‘Well, that sounds a bit harsh but Bruce has never been one to beat around the bushes. I’m glad that he was at least able to see you while you were recovering.’

‘Not much, but better than nothing, I guess. He’s busy trying to set up an office in New York. Didn’t mention where, though.’

‘Probably down in Manhattan with Tony.’

‘Do you know Bruce?’ Steve belatedly asks but stores the name Tony to mention again later.

‘A little? Not much. I mostly knew him through you. He’s one of the men that was involved in the “super-soldier program” that you were a part of. He assisted Erskine on the serum but the old man died with pretty much 80% of the knowledge of how to recreate it.’

‘Oh...but I can’t be the only successful candidate, right? I’m not the first one, right?’

‘Nope; you’re one of a kind, cap.’

‘Shit,’ he swears, looking down at his hands in a new light. He panics and feels a shudder building up beneath his breastbone – they gave him this body and he hasn’t done anything with it since he woke up except to sleep and eat. He’s grown rounder around the tummy and he hasn’t bothered to think about joining a gym. He feels as though he’s wasted the opportunity that was given to him by the two dead men who made this all possible.

‘Hey, look,’ Sam starts as he places a hand on his shoulder and gives him a light shake, ‘whatever you’re thinking about, _stop_. You gave up your dreams of being a Disney animator to volunteer for a project that had a damn good chance of nothing coming out of it. You gave the army _nine years_ of your life and more. You’re due the chance to find yourself again – maybe this is why Phillips didn’t contact you, so you can recover without the higher ups breathing down your neck. You don’t owe them anything and you’ve got nothing you need to prove.’

Steve shakes his head, ‘They died so I could—’

‘No’ Riley cuts that train of thought, ‘Dr. Erskine chose you for a reason; you’re a good man. I know; I’ve worked with you for half a decade, so give me some credit,’ he smiles, trying to lighten up the conversation.

He feels grateful for that but he can’t help the guilt bubbling up in his stomach at the thought that he’s wasting the effort of two men who died to give him this new body. ‘I should be doing more.’

‘No, you’re doing just enough, Steve. You might not be the guy we remember but that doesn’t make you any _less_.’

He can see it in their faces the honest truth, that they don’t blame him for landing himself in this situation, for allowing himself so much time to recover without putting any thought into returning to the military lifestyle, that he doesn’t owe the army any more of his life and that he owes himself the chance to find a place for himself and a way to fit back into the spaces his old life carved out for him. He nods his head, reluctant, but feels that he shouldn’t try to take up the burdens and pressures of being the Steve that they remember but as the Steve that he is now.

‘Alright, enough serious talk for today,’ Sam says as he gets up from the couch, picking up the empty cups and putting them upside down into the washing machine. ‘Lemme show you your room.’

‘I come by often?’ Steve asks as he picks up his duffel bag, following after Sam as Riley switches on the TV to a car show. As he walks out of the living room he catches a few photo frames of Sam and Riley together, a couple of the whole team, a few candid shots around a poker game. There’s a few pictures with people in them that he’s never read about before but he thinks he’ll find out about them all, in due time. He sees himself in a few of them and he feels happy to know that he made a positive impact in their lives.

‘Not really; you had your own place. If you were in Washington then you’ll come by mine but I moved out about a year ago to live with Riley.’

‘Are you two...?’ He trails off, flushing a little bit for being presumptuous but curious to know the answer regardless.

‘Yeah, we keep it on the down-low and on a need-to-know basis. Pretty much everybody in our team knows; ain’t a big deal,’ he says as he waves his hand around and opening the door into a room.

‘Cool,’ he grins as he takes in the place. There’s a closet, a set of drawers and a single bed; more than enough for him to stay for a while. ‘Thanks for letting me crash here,’ he says as he places his bag on the floor at the foot of the bed.

‘Don’t mention it,’ he smiles as they walk back out to join Riley again on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table and making a snappy comment about the light blue Prius on show. Steve thinks it looks nice and ends up sparking a debate with the other two men in the living room, putting up with their boo-ing and thumbs down.

He laughs and retorts that anything that is economically friendly to the environment has to be good for something. They shake their heads but eventually concede a point. Not much, but enough for them to drop the subject and move on to the next car that pops up in the show.

\--

Steve doesn’t realize until he’s lying on the guest bed later that night that he hasn’t really thought much about Bucky much since Sam found him on the side of the road this morning. When he woke up this morning he hadn’t expected to be reacquainted with two army buddies, much less end up staying in their home as he tries to figure out the next step. He thinks he’ll stick around for a couple of days, at least long enough to have a skype chat with the rest of the crew and see who this Phillips is, if he’s as good a man as they say he is.

He barely knows the two of them but it feels right to lie in this bed, to speak with them and to spend time with them. He feels the world righting itself after being skewed for so long and a part of him resents Bucky from hiding him away from the world when he could be recovering so much better with the inclusion of his other friends. At the same time, though, he doesn’t fault Bucky for doing the things he did; for wanting to protect him like he used to do with the skinny Steve he’d grown up with.

His heart aches anew at the thought of the brunet and he tries hard not to dwell on him, tries to move on and take Bruce’s advice to heart – there’s nothing wrong with starting over again; he’s starting to see that now.

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a lot on my plate. Whelp. X'D I'm hoping it gets better in the next week or so...


	6. Chapter 6

He’s unaccountably nervous the next day, watching the time tick by and counting down the minutes. Steve watches as Sam sets up the laptop and connects the HDMI cable to the TV so that the three of them aren’t squashed together in front of the tiny camera on the top of the screen. They’ve got the program launched and ready but the call isn’t due to come in for another hour or so, maybe less depending on whether the boys remember the time or more if they’re caught up with doing something else. In the meantime, they wait. After fidgeting for ten minutes Riley makes him sit down next to him and they talk a little bit more about the last mission they completed together.

‘Are you sure you should be telling me this?’ Steve asks when Riley goes into detail the real fear he felt when his parachute wouldn’t release, ‘I mean, it’s probably confidential, right?’

‘Eh, not really,’ he says with a shrug, ‘maybe if I brought up the actual mission details but mostly I’m just talking about what landed me with an honourable discharge while you’re missing nine, eight? Years worth of memories.’

He breathes then nods for Riley to continue.

‘Sam caught me as I was falling, but our hands slipped. We were near enough to the ground that I wouldn’t die from the crash but it was still a pretty bad fall. But hey, I’m not doing too badly one year out so that’s something,’ he grins, elbowing Steve on his arm.

‘Was it a mission success?’

Sam snorts, ‘Hell no. The Howling Commandos and the Avengers had one of the highest success rates so it sucked when we had to bail but it wasn’t any of our faults.’ He scowls as he comes back into the living room with a steaming mug of coffee for himself. ‘That being said...’ he trails off as he knocks his knuckles onto the coffee table. ‘The Howling Commandos and the Avengers are a special-ops groups. Sometimes if the mission is too big for either one of us then we usually get together to get it done. Our last assignment wouldn’t need more than one team involved but one of the other CO’s wanted us to work alongside the STRIKE team for that particular mission.’

‘Any reason why?’

He shakes his head in regret, ‘Nothing that I’m allowed to say. Let’s just put it as...they didn’t give us the whole picture. STRIKE team had a different agenda and it didn’t turn out too great for us.’

‘But,’ Riley cuts in, ‘they’re pretty much disbanded after that shit-show. Especially after what Rumlow did, and _especially_ after what Phillips and Carter found out about their CO.’

‘What is it?’

‘We can’t tell you,’ Sam shakes with another shake of it head, ‘and you won’t be able to find it on the internet either. You were in the thick of it, though; you did a lot to make sure those guys get booted off the military and stripped of their ranking. I’m pretty sure most, if not all of them, are serving jail time for it. If it weren’t for you a lot more people might’ve died.’

‘Oh...’ he pauses, unsure what to feel about taking credit for something he didn’t do. The 30-year old Steve might’ve deserved praise but the 21-year old Steve feels like a sham, living a lie in another man’s body.

‘Hey, like Sam says; no pressure – nobody expects you to be the Steve we remember. Just be you.’

‘Okay,’ he nods after a while and backtracks the conversation to the name Carter. When he asks about them they tell him that they were in charge of giving the green light for the Howling Commandos; picking them out as the best of their squads and placing them together to make an elite team of soldiers to take up missions that others wouldn’t be able to do.

‘Sam and Riley, we’re originally part of the Avengers but whenever your missions require additional help you call on us for it. Ain’t gonna lie, some of the things you guys do are _hard_ ,’ Sam says as he leans forward to put his empty coffee mug down onto the table, ‘but when you get the job done – _phew_ – there ain’t no other feeling like it.’­­

‘Felt like we were saving the world,’ Riley agrees with a proud look on his face.  

Steve breathes around the lump in his throat, trying hard not to feel like an imposter who stole another man’s life, even though it’s another version of himself. He feels like one of those cuckoo birds; a brood parasite that takes over the nest of another bird and reaps the benefits for an easier lifestyle. He hates that he displaced the Steve that helped save the world, his mood darkening at the thought.

Just as he’s thinking about cooling off in the guest room a familiar bell sounds out from the laptop. Sam immediately jumps up to accept the incoming call on the laptop, saying they’re earlier than usual but pleased none the less as he switches on the TV as well.

As soon as the call connects it’s a cacophony of noise and shouting and pointing at the screen when they see Steve waving from beside Sam and Riley.

‘Hooooooooo shit! It’s the big man! Cap!’

‘One _fucking_ year, man!!’

‘Best surprise _ever_!’

‘Nice scruff you got growing on your face.’

Steve can’t help but laugh as everybody starts exchanging hello’s and how are you’s and generally being noisy from both sides. He feels overwhelmed by the friendliness of the group even though he doesn’t remember them and can only just fit the faces to the names he’s got in his head. Jim Morita sits front and center, flanked by Gabe Jones and Jacques Dernier. Behind them he can see Timothy Dugan and James Falsworth, both looking ecstatic and trying hard not to lean over the other guys to crowd even closer to the laptop screen.

He ends up talking the most out of the three of them, catching the boys up on what he’s been doing the last couple of months since he’d been out of the hospital ­– which isn’t much – and how he bumped into Sam and Riley yesterday. He glosses over the events leading up to his stay at the motel – they don’t need to know about his drama – and that he’ll be sticking around for a little while.

‘Man, that serum is top-notch,’ Jones is saying as he squints at the screen to look closer at Steve, ‘Last I saw your face you looked like you ran into a brick wall. Three times.’

Steve winces, and can just about imagine how pretty a picture he’d make for that. ‘That bad, huh?’ He asks as he touches his cheek. He hadn’t been told how serious it was that it landed him in the hospital with a nine-year gap in his brain. He knew it was awful but he hadn’t known just how badly it turned out for him.

‘Yeah,’ Dugan is saying as he crosses his arms over his chest, his jovial smile turning sombre, ‘they transported you back stateside as soon as you were stable but you slept on for ages. Two months in and they weren’t sure if you were ever gonna wake up.’

‘ _Booooo_ , mood killer,’ Morita is saying as he shoves the man behind him slightly off camera. The other boys burst out in loud raucous laughter as a small tussle happens between the two men on camera. Steve laughs as he watches the interaction unfold, feeling welcome and happy in their presence. He feels a sense of belonging with them, and the fact that they’re not making a big deal of his missing memories helps a lot to ease his anxieties and frustrations of not remembering anything.

‘Oy, somebody go find Phillips,’ Sam shouts over the din. Falsworth salutes and disappears right-quick. Jones follows shortly after, going a different direction and saying he’s going to try and find Peggy.

When he asks who Peggy is the men’s expressions turn cheeky and mischievous and tell him it’s a surprise. He rolls his eyes and decides not to let them rile him up. He chats a little bit more with them, with Sam and Riley throwing in a few questions and answers here and there until suddenly, Falsworth pops back on screen with a middle-aged man greying at the temples.

‘Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. You got fat,’ the man who must be Phillips says with a stern voice but the crinkle around his eyes and the uplift of his lips belie his mood.

Morita gets up from his seat to let Phillips take over and Steve can’t help the rush of seeing him again. He doesn’t remember a single interaction with this man but it feels right to be speaking with him in a way not many things have felt since he woke up. He doesn’t realise that he could miss something that he never himself experienced before until now.

‘Hey, don’t get teary-eyed on me. It’s good to see you again, kid.’

Steve laughs a little shakily, feeling overwhelmed by this group of men, this other life that he lived. The 30-year old Steve did great for himself and a part of him is jealous that he was able to make all these connections over the years but he feels regretful that he lost all recollection of it. He wants to apologize for it but he knows it won’t do any good.

They catch up a little – Phillips tells him that he spoke with Bruce Banner a couple of times to see how Steve was doing but didn’t want to speak to him personally because they were essentially strangers without that working relationship.

‘I wouldn’t have minded, honestly,’ he reassures, thinking “ _if only, if only, if only_ ” as they keep talking. He doesn’t want to think about how Bucky holed him up in that apartment and resent him but the feeling is there and he tries not to choke on it as everybody on the other side of the screen suddenly break out into big smiles and cheeky grins as Jones reappears on camera.

‘Well, I think that’s my cue; you pulled me away from my work long enough,’ Phillips grunts as he gets up from the chair and stretches with his hands on his hips. ‘I’ll talk to you again next time. Take care of yourself, kid.’

‘You, too, Sir,’ he smiles and watches in mild confusion as Dernier starts ushering the boys further off screen. Morita makes a show of brushing the seat before offering it the person outside of Steve’s view. It takes just seconds but then the empty seat in front of the camera is filled with a fair-skinned brunette with the boldest of red on her lips. Steve feels his throat close up in surprise and he hears a snicker from behind him that he thinks probably came from Sam, or Riley, or maybe both.

‘Hi.’

She smiles directly at the camera and he feels stunned by it. ‘Hello, Steve.’

‘You must be Peggy?’ He asks, feeling shy under the intensity of her stare, making himself straighten up despite the urge to hunch his shoulders in. Her eyes flit about the screen, as if cataloguing his appearance. He doesn’t know what she’s looking for but she seems satisfied, if the answering nod is anything to go by.

‘I see you’re doing well for yourself,’ she says with a British accent. She sits with her posture straight and her shoulders back and he can’t help but think _wow_ as she speaks to him, occasionally making eye contact with the camera. ‘We were very worried for you but I’m glad to see that you’re faring much better.’

‘I am, thank you. I, uhm...’he trials off, unsure what else to say because he doesn’t actually know her except for her name, her part in the formation of the Howling Commandos and the fact that she’s British. He feels nervous around her that he never did around the other guys of the group but he chalks it up to the fact that he’s never been able to speak to people of the fairer sex when he was growing up with the exception of his mother. He wonders if the 30-year old Steve had more luck and he wonders if she and him were...

Especially since Bucky and Natasha are...

He stops his thoughts right there.

‘It’s alright; they told me you don’t remember very much,’ she says, filling in for his silence.

‘No, ma’am,’ he starts, and tries to fight down the wave of embarrassment for calling her that instead of her name but her eyes brighten up and she laughs a little at him.

‘You haven’t called me that in a long while. You were so flustered when we first met. I see that you’re still very much the same in this regard.’

Steve chuckles as he scratches at his stubble, reassured now that maybe the other Steve isn’t as smooth as he’d previously assumed after all; he’s still a doofus when it comes to women regardless of age.

The two of them talk for a little bit. Or, well, Peggy talks and he tries not to bumble his way through it. He hasn’t tripped over his words so much since he was 16 and telling Bucky that he likes him as more than a friend and “ _it’s okay if you don’t...uh...if you don’t. I’ll get over it, or something, uhm...eventually..._ ”

‘I’m afraid I need to be getting back to work,’ she starts to say, an apologetic look taking over her face before it’s replaced with a smile. ‘It’s been a pleasure to see you again, Steve. Until next time?’

‘Yes,’ he agrees a little too enthusiastically, ‘definitely.’

Her smile brightens as she stands and waves him goodbye. ‘Ta-ta.’

‘Bye,’ he waves back and watches as she pulls down the bottom hem of her jacket and leaves the rest of the skype call for the others to finish.

As soon as she’s off camera he hears Sam and Riley mimic his “ _bye_ ” in a way that is _definitely_ not how he said it originally but then he sees Dugan’s face appear on screen with a smug look on his face and Morita shortly after with a twinkle in his eyes. Dernier comes in making kissing faces at Jones who giggles like a little girl in the most exaggerated way.

‘Quit it,’ he grumbles and regrets it straight away when they start copying him, saying “ _quit it, quit it_ ” in a whiny voice which he most _definitely_ did not do. He rolls his eyes at them but can’t help the growing fondness in his heart as they tease him mercilessly like brothers would. They egg him on, recounting pieces of his conversation with Peggy and analyzing the heck out of the tiniest thing, saying he should’ve done this, said that, been more suave, throw in a pick-up line here.

‘You got no game, man,’ Sam bemoans and the rest of the men groan in agreement. ‘All that bod and not an ounce of swag in it.’

‘Shut up.’

‘ _Shut up,_ ’ Jones whines in a falsetto.

‘I mean it!’

‘ _Oooooh_ , he’s using his captain voice; better listen to him,’ Morita says with a faux serious look that he shares with Dernier before they crack up laughing, smacking the table and shaking the laptop with each hit.

Steve sighs, put-upon, and rolls his head heavenward to the ceiling with a groan but he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything else.

\--

He finds himself smiling at random intervals throughout the day after the skype session, distracted by his thoughts. Sam and Riley rib him a little about it good-naturedly but they leave him alone for the most part to digest the interaction. It was a lot to take in but it made him feel good in a way not many things have recently. He briefly dwells a bit on Bucky but replaces that thought with bold red lips and bright brown eyes.

It’s during dinner as he’s munching through the green beans that he remembers one particular question that he meant to ask earlier.

‘You guess mentioned a Tony yesterday. Do I know him, too?’

‘Yeah,’ Riley says around a mouthful of roast beef, chewing a few times before swallowing. ‘I don’t remember how you guys met but I think it was around our base camp.’

‘You met him through James Rhodes,’ Sam pitches in as he spears a mushroom and drags it through the sauce.

‘Geez, how many James’ do I know?’ He asks rhetorically, thinking it must’ve been a top choice for a boy’s name during that particular decade. ‘Who’s James Rhodes?’

‘He’s Lieutenant Colonel of the US army; we’re not in the same department. He liaises with us only once in a while. And by _us_ I mean _you_ , since you’re the captain of the team.’

Steve nods, ‘Okay, so, army buddy, then.’

‘That’s about the gist of it,’ Sam says with a shrug and he takes his last bite of dinner. ‘As for Tony, now _that’s_ a long story.’

‘I got all night.’

Sam grins as he starts on the story of his and Tony’s first meeting and how, just after the exchange of a few short words, Bruce had to get in between them before fists started flying. Steve groans, feeling an onslaught of secondhand embarrassment, while Riley sniggers and outright laughs. He’s objective enough that he can see that the both of them were being real jerks to each other since he’s disconnected from that side of the memory but still...

‘You guys had like...a love-hate relationship; Tony jerks you around because he can and your “all-American attitude” pisses him off something fierce without you even trying.’

Riley snorts, ‘We make bets whenever Tony is around to see which of you is gonna get in trouble.’

‘In trouble, how? Get in a fight?’ Steve asks, trying to imagine himself picking on a non-army personnel and is unable to compute. He’s not a bully; he’s spent his whole life fighting against them to become one of them.

Sam waves it aside, ‘Nah. Either Rhodes gets in and drags Tony away or Peggy gives you that “I am severely disappointed in you” look that cows you like nothing I’ve ever seen.’

The dirty-haired blond sniggers again, ‘Free entertainment, man. Gotta get our kicks somewhere.’

Sam rolls his eyes but quickly reassures Steve, ‘ _Most_ of the time, Tony would get the last word in but you usually walk away before things really escalate and get out of hand. I think you and Bruce had a good talk over that and you haven’t really let him rile you up since then.’

He nods and isn’t sure if he wants to meet Tony especially now that he knows most, if not all, of their history and past interactions have been a little bit on the explosive side. Sam tells him that Tony is really good at pushing his buttons and vice versa; just the right word said in the right tone is enough to ruffle some feathers and get someone’s hackles raised up like no tomorrow.

‘Wow, I don’t even wanna know the rest,’ Steve confesses as Sam and Riley talk about it like some fond memory and, maybe it is, but all he can feel right now is sheer embarrassment. He thinks this is probably what his ma felt like sometimes when he got into fights when he was younger and she had to be called in to the teacher’s office while he sat in a chair with a rapidly swelling eye and a split lip.

‘It’s the same story, just with different means – Tony gets to base, you end up meeting each other, somebody says something, somebody gets all hot and bothered, and somebody walks away.’

‘Yay...’ he deadpans and decides he needs some of that dark chocolate ice cream that he saw Sam put away in the freezer yesterday. If he ends up eating half of the pint, well, he thinks he deserves it for putting up with their relentless teasing of the “infallible” Captain Steve Rogers and his interactions with the “divalicious” Tony Stark.

He doesn’t mind, though.

Until it registers to him that the Tony they’re talking about is actually _Howard’s son_ , as in, _the dead guy who helped give him this new and improved body_.

‘Whoops,’ Riley makes a face at this, ‘looks like the cat’s out of the bag now,’ he says as Steve sits with a spoon of ice cream halfway to his mouth and a positively catatonic look. It kind of brings to light the way their interactions are gone on the way it has. It’ probably both of their faults but...

_Well, shit..._

\--

That night, as he’s lying in bed replaying the day’s conversations in his head with a cringe and a smile on his face at equal intervals, his phone goes off. He turns to the bedside table and considers ignoring it because he knows who’s calling – he’s only got two numbers programmed into it and he doubts Bruce would contact him in the middle of the night. Steve lets it continue on ringing until it stops. Then he listens to the notification of an incoming text. He considers ignoring it, too, but he decides he doesn’t need to reply if he doesn’t want to.

_Please come back to the apartment. I promise I won’t bother you._

Steve frowns and hovers a finger over the back button to close out of the app when another text comes in.

_I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Nat and Liliana. I didn’t know how to bring it up and I didn’t think it was a good idea._

He snorts and rolls his eyes. He supposes Bucky has a point but two months was more than ample time to say that he’s got a wife and kid. Nine years is a long time and he knew things couldn’t have stayed the same and, in a way, it didn’t but he never expected this, didn’t see it coming at all. It makes sense that Bucky never tried to initiate contact, never kissed, never got frisky under the covers with him and it both infuriates and depresses the heck out of him that Bucky moved on without him.

_I’m sorry. I was trying to help you get better. I was hoping you’d remember on your own. It’s been hell on me since we broke up and it was hard over the years but we were trying to make things work out between us. I screwed up._

‘Yeah, no shit,’ he thinks out loud as he reads Bucky’s text and types back a question: _When did we break up?_

_Five years. We tried to make the long-distance relationship work but things got in the way and for a while we were just on-and-off._

_How old is Liliana?_

The reply takes a little bit longer to come back but he’s not surprised when Bucky’s return text says: _Five years_ , either. It only adds a little bit more heartbreak on top of what he’s carrying for him.

‘Wow,’ his voice wobbles a little as he texts back, _You dun fucked._ He puts the phone back down and ignores the other messages coming in, the two attempts at calling him until it finally falls silent. He turns his back to it and tries to hold himself together, pulling the blanket tightly over his body as his blurry eyes traces idle patterns in the plain wallpaper. It hurts, but he tells himself that it’s better this way.

\--

 


	7. Chapter 7

It’s a week later when he decides that he’s overstayed his welcome. Sam and Riley haven’t made any notions towards it but he feels bad that he’s encroaching on their privacy and it’s not fair of him to continue staying here with them – Riley still has bad days where he just can’t walk at all and he and Sam share heavy moments of long silences, holding onto each other tightly that makes Steve feel guilty about witnessing.

Sam gets it, though, when he says he’s gonna pack up and go. He doesn’t make a big fuss out of it, doesn’t ask if he’s going to be okay, if he knows where he’s going next; just trusts Steve to be able to look after himself and take it one step at a time. Steve doesn’t know what to do with that kind of faith because he’s only ever received it from Bucky before.

He stops that line of thinking because, recently, Bucky’s only given him bittersweet thoughts and he can’t deal with anymore of those right now, not when he’s still trying to piece himself back together from memory loss and heartbreak.

‘See you around, huh?’ Riley smiles as he leans heavily on his crutch to pull Steve in for a hug. It’s an awkward angle, especially with the inclusion of the extra support, but they make it work. ‘We’ll try and do a joint skype session with the boys next time, huh?’

He smiles and looks forward to it. He’s got two new numbers in his phone programmed in and a new app downloaded, too. He just needs to be able to find a spot with free wifi when he gets a text from them about the next skype call.

The bag still weighs the same on his shoulder as when he arrived but he feels simultaneously lighter and heavier with it. The week he spent with them has been good and he’s come out richer for it. His head is filled with more stories about his time spent with the army, the shared interactions between his team and their COs, the misadventures between himself and Tony.

Steve still winces at the thought of Tony, hates thinking of himself as a bully, but they all reassure him that Tony gave as good as he did and it’s not so much from animosity as it is from rivalry. He doesn’t know yet the full story but maybe, one day, he’ll find out.

He takes a long walk to nowhere in particular, just moving himself forward.  The weather is mild, the wind feels warm on his skin and he’s got his head up in the clouds only coming back down to earth when he finds himself at a park a few miles away.

There’s an empty seat a few yards away sitting right under an oak tree. He passes a teenager napping under the shade with a book on their face to block out the sun. He can hear the delighted screams of children in the nearby playground and the occasional squeak of hinges and the rumble of spinning wheels.

He digs through his bag and pulls out his sketchbook, flipping to a new page and sketching the gnarled bark of the tree beside him, the knots and scraggly branches and the serrated leaves. He moves on to the people around him, walking, jogging, some hurrying and some taking their time, all in gestural sweeps of his pencil. He does a sustained piece of the sleeping teenager and tries to spot the values of their shadows beneath the shade of the tree.

Steve loses time and loses pages to his drawings and doesn’t notice the other half of the seat is occupied until he turns to a new page and looks up for a new subject to draw.

The man beside him has straw-blond hair, a crooked nose, a crooked grin and a familiar twinkle in his eye with a butterfly bandage on his brow. He gestures with a wrapped up finger at the blank page and waves his hands in the air, contorting his fingers around in shapes that Steve is delighted to see.

 _I never knew you could draw_ , the man signs rapidly to him.

 _I haven’t done it in a long time,_ he replies with a grin wide on his face, rubbing once at his growing beard. _I’m Steve._

_My name is Clint. We haven’t seen each other in a while._

The familiarity of his face finally clicks in his mind. He’s seen this man before in a couple of Sam and Riley’s photographs around the house. In the week that he spent in their home he managed to ask about almost everyone held within the frames and knows this man to be Clint Barton who was a part of a different team called the Avengers but occasionally worked together with the Howling Commandos as a long-range sniper.

 _I recently lost some of my memory so I’m sorry if I don’t recall some things_ , he apologizes and puts his sketchbook to the side, shifting in his seat so he’s more front-facing to the other man.

Clint shrugs and waves it aside, _No big deal_. _Want to meet my dog?_ He asks and immediately holds his fingers up to his mouth to whistle loudly.

Steve hears barking coming from nearby and he looks over his shoulder to see a golden retriever come barrelling towards them, one eye permanently shut with a tongue lolling out of its’ mouth. The dog barks happily, tail wagging furiously as Clint rubs their fur down and pats them heartily to settle on the grass. The dog complies and continues to breathe heavily as they look back and forth from their owner and Steve.

 _This is Lucky_ , Clint introduces, _I found him when he was a pup and missing an eye._

He frowns a little at this but smiles softly as he greets the dog and holds the back of his hand for him to sniff. Lucky accepts him with a slobbering lick that makes Steve laugh.

_He looks great. I’m glad you found each other._

_Yeah, never a dull moment with this one around,_ Clint grins as he leans back in his seat, crossing a leg over the other and breathes in the air around them.

Steve picks up his sketchbook again and starts to draw Lucky lying down at their feet, looking back and forth between the two of them and wagging his tail every so often. He gets a nice profile view of the dog and a few half-finished pieces to continue on later. The three of them spend a while there but it’s not long before Clint stands up and clips a leash back onto Lucky.

 _I live about half an hour away; far enough to tire this boy out. Want to chill out and hang around for a while?_ Clint asks and tries not to trip over Lucky as he winds the leash around his feet, tail thumping excitedly along his leg.

He shrugs and decides, _Okay_ , as he packs up his things back into his bag because, why not? He doesn’t have any plans or anywhere to go in particular. He’s pretty much homeless for the foreseeable future and he thinks he’s been incredibly fortunate so far to bump into these people that the 30-year old Steve has made friends with over the missing nine years in his head. A part of him wonders if he’s being stalked and watched out for but he brushes that stupidity aside. He’s nobody after all; just a kid from Brooklyn.

Lucky weaves between their legs throughout the walk. Enough that Steve has tripped over almost three times before he learns to lift his legs high enough that the dog just breezes right through the gap of his walk cycle. Clint, however, doesn’t let Lucky bother him but, as a consequence, almost brains himself on the lamp post as he signs back and forth with Steve. The crooked nose makes sense now, and so does the butterfly bandage over his eyebrow.

The building, when they arrive, is a bit run-down; the lifts don’t work, over half the letter slots are dented in and the stairwell is a graffitied mess, smelling a little bit like piss that Steve tries not to breathe in.

It’s eight floors up before Clint pushes his way out of the stairwell and walks down the hallway with the chipped paint and worn down carpeting before standing in front of the door with the rusted 806 above the viewing lens.

Once the door is pushed open and Lucky’s leash is unclipped from his collar he goes in and plops himself down right in the middle of the couch in the living room. The apartment is a little bit on the messy side with a few takeaway containers thrown into a plastic bag by the door with a small pile of pizza boxes underneath it but it’s infinitely better than the outside. The paint looks like it’d been done within the last year or so without a crack in sight, the windows are clean and streak-free and the tiles in the kitchen looks spotless, too.

_Sorry about the mess; I do a different set of chores everyday and it was the bathroom’s turn._

_No worries_ , Steve smiles as he drops his bag by the couch and sits beside Lucky, running his fingers through the soft fur, feeling calm and relaxed.

Clint sits on the opposite side of Lucky, holding out a bottle of beer for Steve to take. They wordlessly knock their bottles together above Lucky’s head and drink half of it in one go.

The apartment is small, mostly fit for one, but it’s homey in a different sense to Sam and Riley’s house. The dog is a definite plus and Steve finds himself smiling into the conversation as he signs word after word while Lucky lies with his head down eyeing them back and forth.

_Wrong place and wrong time. The explosion took what was left of my hearing and now here I am._

_You look happy._

_I am. I’m in a good headspace. I’m getting better. I have a job and I have more days that are good than bad._

_Awesome._

When Clint offers him the couch along with an order of fried rice he decides to take him up on it. As he listens to the man’s snores and the dogs’ huffs he feels just as good as when he stayed with Sam and Riley.

It’s easier under the cover of night to dwell on the thought of Bucky, missing him something fierce and wondering how he is. He thinks of Natasha and Liliana and what he means to them that the little girl would call him uncle with such unbridled joy in her voice and expression and would ask for the apple pie that he learned to make from his ma. He sighs and turns to lie on his side, facing the couch cushions and hiding himself under the covers.

In the morning, he wakes to Lucky jumping on his body with a _boof_ of excitement and licking his hair.

‘Yuck!’ He complains but plays wholeheartedly with him anyway while Clint blearily comes out of the bedroom heading straight for the kitchen. Steve laughs when Clint promptly trips over the pizza boxes he put by the door, swearing loudly and adding a bruised cheek after colliding into the fridge.

\--

The weather is exactly the same as yesterday and Steve thinks to bring his pencil and sketchbook along as they make their way to the park to let Lucky get in his daily exercise. He hums as he looks at his surrounding, making mental notes to draw certain things later on when he remembers to. The group of kids playing in the playground are different today but the teenager is back under the shade of the tree actually reading their book this time, looking attentive and making quick notes on the margin with a mechanical pencil.

Clint lets Lucky off the leash, letting him run to his heart’s content and keeping an eye out for him only once in a while.

‘How much are you missing?’ The sandy-haired blond asks.

Steve’s still surprised to hear his voice even though he’d heard it earlier in the morning, a little rough like he hasn’t used it much, but clear and concise. ‘Around nine years, give or take.’

He lets out a long whistle, looking away to see where Lucky is in the park before turning back to him, eyes focused intently on his lips. ‘Must be rough.’

‘Not rough, but...frustrating, definitely,’ he says as he scratches as his beard, growing thicker with every day he ignores it.

Clint nods and pulls out a ball from his pocket when Lucky runs back to them, eager to play. ‘How’re you holding up?’ He asks as he throws the ball as far as he can make it.

Steve waits for Clint to turn to him before answering, ‘Surprisingly good. I’ve been getting help.’

‘Awesome,’ he grins and accepts back the slobber-covered ball before throwing it back into the distance. He wipes his hand onto his jeans and gestures to the park bench they sat on yesterday. ‘Who’ve you talked to?’

‘Pretty much everybody from the Howling Commandos. I stayed with Sam and Riley for a while and we skyped with the others a few times.’

His smile widens as he takes back the ball and throws it somewhere behind them, making Lucky dash under the park bench and hurrying off to catch it. ‘I haven’t seen them in a while. How are they?’

‘Riley’s getting better, and Sam’s using the time-off to unwind and sort himself out before he thinks about going back overseas. As for the others, they look good; maybe a little homesick.’

Clint nods, picking the ball up from the grass where Lucky dropped it and throwing it into a different direction again. He wears a faraway look in his eyes, mind drifting, and Steve decides to open up his sketchbook to his last page, shading in the fur coat of the dog and rubbing a few pencil markings away to add a highlight.

When Lucky decides he’s had enough he plops himself down by their feet, panting and tail wagging happily. Steve takes his time with the sketch, looking at Lucky’s fur for quick reference and adding it to his drawing. Every so often he looks away from the page to rest his eyes and he sees the teenager sleeping under their book again, obviously taking a well-deserved break.

As soon as he’s satisfied with the drawing, he pulls the page out and hands it over to the sandy-haired blond who grins widely upon receiving it.

‘Oh, man! This is great! Thanks a lot, dude.’

Lucky, having caught on to Clint’s excitement, barks and jumps back up on his feet, walking back and forth and eyeing the piece of paper in Clint’s hand with interest. He gets his front paws on the bench and the sandy-haired blond obliges, showing him the page that gets a bark and an excited tail-wag of approval.

‘This is really good. I’m gonna frame it,’ Clint grins as he touches his fingertips lightly on the paper before giving it back to Steve. ‘Hold it for me until we get back?’

‘Sure,’ he smiles and carefully slips it between the pages and getting up after Clint, Lucky sedately plodding along after them but still managing to trip the other man once during the walk home.

Steve is starting to see that the scrapes and bruises are not from the possibility of fighting but just his general clumsiness.

When they arrive back to the apartment, Clint offers him one of the last two slices of pepperoni pizza they had earlier for lunch, eating a bite for himself and giving the rest to Lucky. Steve doesn’t think it’s a good diet for the dog but hey, Lucky looks happy and healthy so he’s not judging.

\--

He gets a text that night about a possible skype session happening in possibly half an hour’s time. He’s just sent off a text to Sam about trying to find a wifi spot when he thinks to ask if maybe Clint has internet or not.

The incredulous look on Clint’s face pretty much says it all. All it takes is the wifi name and password and he’s in.

‘I’m having a skype session with the guys, including Sam and Riley. Do you want to join us?’

‘Sure, why not?’ He says as he settles on the couch next to Steve, Lucky taking the opportunity to lay himself across their laps and wag his tail happily. ‘Better hope your video quality is good otherwise we’re gonna have ourselves an awkward game of Chinese whispers.’

Steve hoots out a laugh and accepts the video call from Sam, handing the phone over to Clint so he can have a better view of the screen.

‘Hey, man; looking good! Both of you!’ Sam greets while Riley waves from next to him.

‘Opps, either he just said “Hey, Manuel, bottle for two,” or I screwed up somewhere,’ Clint winces as he stares haplessly at the phone.

Steve cackles but quickly gives Clint the phone to hold so he can translate what Sam said using sign language, repeating the words as he goes along. Clint laughs at himself as he says, ‘Dude, that was so bad. “Hey, Manuel, bottle for two?” _Hah_!’ He snorts and Lucky barks along with him.

‘Puppy!’ Riley gushes, stealing the phone from Sam and tilting his head to get a better look of the dog on their lap. ‘We should get a puppy.’

‘Man, you think I got time to look after a puppy when I’m trying to keep your ass outta trouble?’ Sam retaliates and the conversation devolves into jeers and laughter, teasing and egging each other on.

In no time at all another call comes in from the Howling Commandos and they drop their first call to accept the new one, everybody shouting over each other in greeting and Steve occasionally acting as translator when the connection gets too bad for Clint to pick anything up clearly.

It’s a good way to end their night.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do some quick research about sign language and whether or not I could use contractions...Maybe I’m putting too much thought into it but I ended up learning a few things about sign language that I didn’t know before. It’s so fascinating!
> 
> I watched a video the other day of someone singing a song while someone else signed it for the audience. It was amazing...and really heart-warming.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Thanks for sticking around so long! There's quite a few more chapters to go and I think I may have to increase the final chapter count once again but I'll do that after I've got a better idea of how much longer it'll go for. My new estimate is about 16 chapters total? But it could go for 20 maximum. WE SHALL SEE! In any case, ENJOY THIS CHAPTER!! <3

Steve hasn’t shaved in a while, not since the last time he left Bucky’s apartment with a bag over his shoulder and a heart heavy with hurt, but he feels different, lighter, as he leaves Clint and Lucky’s place after staying with them for a little over four days. Lucky keeps walking around his legs whenever he tries to take one step closer to the door and Clint just laughs at him, saying Lucky isn’t keen on letting his new running buddy leave.

‘Lucky likes that you can keep up with him; he’ll be sad to see you go.’

‘Awwwh,’ Steve smiles dopily as he kneels down and ruffles his fur a few more times, extending his stay for another half an hour just to play with the dog some more before really leaving the apartment. He’ll miss them but Clint told him his couch is up for grabs if he’s ever around to hang out again next time.

Steve thanks him and says goodbye to Lucky one more time before closing the door behind him. It’s odd, he thinks, to be in and out of people’s lives so easily and not be given to any expectations on himself or others. He likes that the 30-year old Steve has made friends that don’t expect him to behave a certain way and he likes that they don’t expect the 21-year old Steve to pretend to be someone he’s desperately not.

He starts walking, first with nowhere particular in mind until he sees an advertisement for a “Fun Fair” down at Coney Island. He detours to the metro, his steps jaunty at the thought of it. He technically hasn’t seen it in nine years so there’s bound to be some changes. In his mind it had only been a few months since he last went with Bucky during one of the summer days, bumming around on the beach, sharing a double scoop of ice cream and screaming down the roller coasters. Despite throwing up a couple of times throughout the years that he's been there, that place has been nothing but good memories. He refuses to think about Bucky in a negative light, only regrets that the brunet didn’t trust either of them enough to tell the truth about the reality of their lives; how they are no longer as connected as they once were.

The ride there is short and the train cars unsurprisingly occupied, almost all the seats taken up by another person waiting to arrive at their next destination. People hop off and more people hop on. He rides on for about fifteen minutes before getting off at the stop closest to Coney Island and takes his time walking there, seeing all the changes that have happened over the last nine years and seeing all the things that still blissfully remain the same. He’s sad to see a few of his favorite places go but he’s happy that some of the not-so-great places have been taken over by something better. He goes in to the Mexican cafe that used to be a dingy dry-cleaners and ends up eating a taco and sipping a cold bottle of coke by the bar. The workers are friendly and give him plenty of suggestions of other foods to try, places to go, best bargains to find, treating him like a tourist even though he was born and bred in Brooklyn. Although, in a way, he guesses he is something of a tourist – he hasn’t been around for nine years, after all.

Steve leaves his bag at a rental locker near the entrance of the park, having decided not to ruin his fun by lugging a bag around even if it’s half empty. He treats himself to cotton candy and a lemon slushy, eats a hot dog even though he just had a taco barely half an hour ago and immediately regrets the extra food in his tummy when he looks up at the Cyclone and feels a familiar lurch in his stomach. He decides to stick with the easier stuff; seeing a stuffed bunny he thinks Liliana might like and paying the teenager manning the booth a few bucks for a few balls to throw at a few targets. He doesn’t get the bunny but he gets to pick a consolation prize of a stuffed fruit with a cartoony face on it. He points to the green apple with orange freckles and a red blush across its cheeks out of the entire lot and decides it’s just as good, if not better, as the bunny. It even squeaks when he squeezes it.

He keeps the apple tucked under his arm as he looks at the vendors, waiting to digest a bit more before thinking about joining the queue for the Cyclone even though the last time he rode it was definitely just “a few months” ago. He passes a lot of rides that he normally would’ve gone if Bucky were here with him but going on them by his lonesome feels kind of weird and pathetic.

There’s a strength test where he knows the creepy fortune telling machine used to be. Good riddance because the puppet with the crumbling paint job on its face creeped him out whenever they passed it. It looks like the same machine that used to be by the teacups ride and he remembers passing that area and seeing a couple of trashcans in its place. The hammer feels light in his hands and the head of it worn down around the edges, the bright yellow plastic covering flaking off in places. The top of the machine is about double his height and he can see the bottom part of the red bell chipped off and a little bit on the rusty side. He doesn’t expect to get very high, maybe a little under three-quarters of the way. He remembers Bucky barely managing half but he’s pretty sure he did it just to get a laugh out of him.

Steve thinks fondly of the memory as he raises the hammer over his shoulder and swings it down as hard as he can. The puck shots up and rings the bell with an echo that surprises him. He never fully figured out the capabilities of his new body but he’s a little shocked at how well it moves when he spent the better part of his life struggling with flat feet and scoliosis.

‘Well, give the man a prize!’ The middle-aged man that’s got a bit of a pot-belly and a moustache curled at the ends grins as he holds up a Polaroid camera. Steve barely has the time to get a smile in before the man is pushing down the button and holding the picture, tacking it on the wall of winners on the back of the machine that he never noticed before. He loses count after fifteen but there’s easily double of that more on display.

‘Is this the same machine from about nine years ago?’ He asks as he hands back the hammer.

‘Nope, that old thing bit the dust about two years back. The head of the hammer broke off back into the guy’s face and the puck knocked the screw on the bell loose and it fell to its sad and dramatic death.’

Steve winces at the imagery while the man pulls off a picture from the back and hands it over. There’s a red-streaked dark-haired teenager with a swollen eye grinning at the camera with a thumbs up and the broken hammer over his shoulder. He laughs and is happy to see the guy in the photo is being a good sport about it as he returns the picture.

‘Alright, so what’ll it be?’ The man asks as he holds up a box with little items all covered up in an assortment of wrapping paper, some for birthdays, some for Christmases, and some in plain old newspaper. He digs a hand in and rummages around for a couple of seconds before he pulls one up. The shape is a bit telling and when he gives it a squeeze he thinks it’ll make a good gift for Lucky.

‘Thanks a lot,’ Steve says as he peels off the tape around the newspaper and sees a chew-toy hotdog inside.

‘You’re welcome. Have a great day!’ He says and gives Steve a wave before going back to daring people to give the strength test a go. Not shortly after he’s gone he hears a smack of a hammer on the pedal on the ground but no resounding _ding_.

He doesn’t feel in the mood for roller-coasters by the time he’s walked pretty much the entirety of the park but he sees the towering Ferris wheel going around in a sedate circle and he decides that’ll be a good way to finish his time here before he has to think about accommodations for the night. The queue is long when he arrives and mostly filled with couples and a few families but it goes by at a pretty good pace as each carriage slows to a stop, lets some people off, lets some people back on then away they go again. He thinks back on the last time he rode on it, still skinny and adjusting poorly to the cold, having Bucky put an arm over his shoulder and pulling him closer for warmth. He remembers feeling the cold bite into his cheeks but enjoying the view of the sunset as it almost disappeared beyond the horizon, the sky a beautiful dark purple, blues, oranges, reds and pinks. It wasn’t that long ago but he misses it, he misses them and he misses Bucky.

Steve smiles at the girl as he asks for a ticket for one. She smiles back and tells him it won’t be long until his turn arrives. It’s slow going but as soon as he’s on it he feels a shiver up his spine as his fingers encircle the metal bar holding him in and keeping him safe. The seat is smaller than he remembers but then again, he’s easily twice the size of his old body. He forgets, sometimes, that he’s not the same guy who woke up in a hospital some months ago thinking he went to sleep in their old crummy apartment.

The sun is still high in the sky, mid afternoon, but the view is no less as amazing as last time. He just wishes Bucky was here. He wouldn’t mind sharing a seat with Liliana, Bucky and Natasha in the seat behind them as they share the view over their home.

His heart aches at the thought, but it’s not as bad.

He’s slowly getting there.

\--

With his bag back over his shoulder and the toys for both Liliana and Lucky stuffed inside along with his clothes, he starts walking, keeping his eyes open for cheap places to stay the night. He didn’t leave the apartment with much cash because the last thing he wanted was to owe Bucky more for putting up with him during the months that they stayed together in the apartment. He has enough to last him a few days if he stretches it out. Maybe he can earn some money drawing portraits for people for a few bucks a piece, maybe enough for a couple of light meals and a place to stay with a decent bed, a roof over his head and a door that locks.

The streetlights are turning on in the waning daylight and he’s just about to cross over to Prospect Park for a quick break after walking around for a couple of hours and to think on his overnight options when an honest-to-God limousine pulls up right in front of him and the door opens up to reveal the classiest lady he’s ever seen outside of fashion magazines. She’s beautiful, and he feels a little bit like a hobo standing next to her. He’s thinking about jaywalking to the other side of the street when she greets him by name and a smile showing off her straight, pearly whites, holding him close like a dear friend she hasn’t been in a long time.

Steve hunches over her a little awkwardly, unsure where to put his hands because he doesn’t know this woman but she seems to know him very well as she kisses his cheeks and rubs her hands along his arms saying, ‘God, it’s been so long!’

‘H-hello, ma’am,’ he stutters then flushes in embarrassment, caught off-guard by her familiarity and unable to string together a coherent sentence at her proximity to him.

‘Oh, Steve, I’m so sorry. I’m Pepper, by the way, and I’m so glad to see you’re alright.’

‘O-oh, Pepper, right,’ he nods and wracks his brain for any mention of a Pepper from Sam, Riley or Clint but he comes up totally blank. ‘I’m sorry; I thought I asked about everybody I knew over the years but I guess I must’ve missed a few,’ he apologizes, sheepish, as he rubs his beard and winces again at how he must be looking standing next to her in her white business ensemble with her killer heels, pencil skirt and white blazer with the sharp shoulders.

‘It’s more than alright; I understand. Would you like to have dinner with me? I’d love to catch up with you again if you’re not too busy,’ she smiles at him, not treating him like he’s someone different – more like someone who’s gone on holiday for a long time and has finally decided to come back home.

‘Oh, yeah. Yes, I would love that; give me more pieces to fill in this head of mine,’ he grins, is happy to see that she’s taking it for the joke he means it to be as she gestures to the car. He holds her hand as she steps inside, something which she grins about, before he follows after her. The interior is plush and smells like new leather, with polished surfaces and an icebox and bar in the centre of the vehicle. He wants to laugh hysterically at the opulence of everything with him sticking out like a sore and awkward thumb in his t-shirt, hooded sweater and faded jeans but he doesn’t want to come out looking like a crazy man as he thinks about the kind of people the 30-year old Steve knows and hangs out with on the regular.

The window showing out into the driver’s compartment slides down revealing a pair of kind eyes in the rear-view mirror, saying; ‘Welcome back, Steve,’ like they’re old buddies, too.

He relaxes into the leather seats and smiles back as the man re-introduces himself as “Happy” without having to be prompted or hinted to. They get stuck in traffic for a little bit and Steve uses that opportunity to talk a little bit with the two of them and on how they knew each other.

‘Did we serve together?’ Steve asks as he leans forward in his seat so he doesn’t have to raise his voice to be heard.

‘No. We met through Ms. Potts,’ he says as he nods to her, cueing her in.

‘And we met through Tony,’ she says with a smile.

‘Uh...I only know one Tony...’ he trails off, feeling dread pool in his stomach at the thought he might possibly end up meeting the son of the man who helped give him this body very soon.

‘Well, unless you know another Tony Stark, God forbid, then yes, that’s the one.’

‘Oh, god,’ he winces and buries his face in his hands. He’s not ready to meet Tony Stark. The Tony Stark in his mind has an intense rivalry with the 30-year old Steve and he’s not sure if he’ll be cowed by seeing Tony in the flesh or explode at the man’s presumptuous attitude. At this point, he thinks it might be the former, but he hasn’t lost his penchant for picking fights with bullies so there’s a good 50/50 chance of it going either way.

‘Don’t worry about Tony,’ Pepper says and Steve can’t help the frantic hoot coming out of his mouth as he continues to try and hide from reality. It doesn’t work. ‘I’ll be sure to keep him on a leash,’ she adds with a wink that Steve catches upon peeking through his fingers. Happy laughs in the front seat as he continues to drive them over the bridge into Lower Manhattan.

He thinks back on what Sam and Riley talked about before with Bruce setting up his new office with Tony in Manhattan. He wonders if the doctor is here, yet. He wonders if he should be expecting a call from him to set up another appointment soon. He thinks he can handle the inevitability of meeting Tony anew if it means seeing Bruce as well; someone calm to talk to instead of the faux-animosity between himself and Tony.

They eventually slow to a stop in Hell’s Kitchen and Happy, after he’s opened the door for them, tells Steve to leave his bag in the car if he’d like; he can look after it while he and Ms. Potts catch up over some food.

‘Thanks a lot,’ he smiles as he leaves his bag tucked between the bar and the seat, nicely out of the way.

‘No problem. Have a good dinner!’ He waves and closes the door behind them, getting back into the limousine and merging back into the traffic.

‘Come on. I’m so excited; we have so much to talk about,’ Pepper gushes as she leads the way into the restaurant. It’s a pretty nondescript place from the outside but looks completely different upon stepping through the door. There’s a maître d' standing by a podium lit up by a lone yellow light casting a soft glow around her. The waiting area has red highlights running under the seats and around the walls, muted beneath a decorative dark wood. Everything is made up of reds and blacks with the exception of the sparsely placed lighting above their heads, creating a private and romantic ambiance.

It’s the kind of place where you’d put an effort into the kinds of clothes you’re wearing but the maître d' doesn’t seem judgemental as she nods to both him and Pepper and says, ‘Welcome back, Ms. Potts; it’s a delight to see you again. Please allow me to lead you to your table – Mr. Stark has already ordered your favourite wine.’

‘Oh good,’ she beams as she follows after the woman, ‘would it be possible to add another setting to our table?’

‘Of course, ma’am; I’ll let your server know as soon as possible.’

‘Thank you very much,’ she smiles while Steve tries to control his breathing and not hyperventilate in the middle of the classiest restaurant he’s ever stepped foot in with the classiest lady he’s ever met in his entire life.

 _What even is my life?_ He bemoans as he continues to numbly follow after the two women, eventually coming up to a private room big enough to fit another two tables in.

‘Pep!’ The man with a goatee smiles upon seeing Pepper but slips off at the next second upon seeing him, his eyes narrowing to slits as he points a finger at him. ‘ _You_.’

‘Tony. Behave,’ she admonishes as Tony stands up to give her a hug despite his eyes screaming “murder” at him. He feels himself sweating just a little and immediately regrets not bringing his bag with him so he can make a hasty getaway from the inevitable disaster that’s about to happen. He’s not sure if he can survive dinner for an hour, _at minimum_ , with the two of them without something bad happening at one or all three of them. He’s seriously considering sitting outside at the curb praying for Happy to come back with his stuff so he can hightail it outta there and buy a night at the cheapest place he can find. ‘Remember what we talked about,’ Pepper adds as she lets go of Tony to give him a pointed look.

The dark-haired man huffs through his nose and his attitude immediately makes a switch for the amicable as he pulls out a chair out for Pepper and holds up a hand to Steve. ‘So, how’s being an amnesiac treating you?’ He asks as a server comes back with an extra place setting while another brings in an extra chair.

‘Tony!’ Pepper cries out, her expression a mixture of appall and mortification.

Steve feels his hand being squeezed to within an inch of his life and he refuses to back down as he smiles with his teeth, squeezing back until he sees the tiniest of winces on the other man’s face. ‘Not bad – woke up with nine years of hard labour pay in my bank account without having to lift a finger. My work with the special forces means I’m set for the rest of my life. Army pensions for, the, win.’

Both Tony and Pepper gape at him and he wonders if maybe he crossed the line with that joke when suddenly Tony doubles over with laughter, shoulder heaving with a hand placed over his belly, tears coming out of the corners of his eyes and using his handhold on Steve to keep himself upright.

‘Didn’t see that one coming,’ Tony hoots as he takes back his seat, still laughing a little bit to himself as he pours Pepper a glass of wine and orders two bourbons for himself and Steve. ‘I think I like this Steve better than the other Steve.’

For the first time since he woke up he laughs with reckless abandon – while nobody’s ever tried comparing him to the 30-year old Steve, neither has anybody accepted him as the 21-year old version of himself. It’s refreshing, and he feels all the dread over meeting Tony wash away with the arrival of the alcohol and a clink of all their glasses. It burns going down and he coughs at it while Tony jeers and calls him weak, drinking it like it’s only water.

They talk easily over entree, main, dessert and more drinks which Steve hadn’t even ordered for but found it rich and mouth-meltingly good. He doesn’t want to think about the price tag on tonight’s meal and belatedly realizes he doesn’t feel at all drunk even after finishing his second glass of bourbon. He wonders if it’s just how his body works now but doesn’t mind it as he savours the taste of the whiskey lingering at the back of his throat.

It’s a couple of hours later before they leave the restaurant without even paying for it but he thinks they probably frequent the place so much they must have a tab there, or they pay their meals in advance so they can leave without needing to think about it.

Happy is already outside waiting for them and Steve wonders how long he’s been waiting there or if he’s used to their schedule that he knows, more or less, when they finish their meals by, with or without company present. Happy opens the door for them and Tony helps Pepper in first before disappearing inside, his hand coming out to pull Steve in by the front of his hooded sweater. He almost brains himself on the roof of the car which Tony gleefully cackles at but lets go to allow Steve to get in at his leisure.

‘What’s with the hobo bag?’ Tony asks as he kicks at it, making himself another drink at the bar which he offers to Steve but declines – he’s had enough alcohol. He’s not drunk, or even tipsy, but he’s pleasantly full and doesn’t want to ruin the taste.

‘Tony,’ Pepper scolds again.

Steve doesn’t take any offence. He shrugs and simply tells them that he’s been going out trying to find out more about himself; doing some soul-searching. ‘I stayed with Sam and Riley for a while; they told me about you and what we got up to at the base. Did you know there was a bet?’

‘Yeah, and I’m winning,’ he smirks, which Pepper fondly rolls her eyes at.

He feels his competitive streak rising and can’t help smirking back at him. ‘Only because I’m letting you.’

Tony lets out another bark of laughter, almost spilling his drink onto the plush carpeting. He laughs for a minute straight and eventually tells him, ‘I’m not taking no for an answer; you’re staying with us.’

Steve shrugs, knows Tony means exactly what he says, and they travel on through to Midtown Manhattan where they eventually drive into an underground parking area beneath a large towering building which he can’t help but whistle at. He’s not stupid; he knows they’re in the parking lot for Stark Industries and he wonders if they’re here to pick something up before going off to their swanky penthouse where he’ll probably be given a spare room that’ll be the fanciest room he’ll ever be in, and where Tony will say that it’s nothing.

He follows them out of the car, takes his bag with him when Tony tells him to, and goes where they go, knowing they’ll tell him when he can stand around and wait while they “close up shop” for the day.

The elevator actually _talks_ with them as they ride it ten, twenty, thirty, forty, _fifty_ floors up and more. Pepper introduces the voice as JARVIS; the A.I. that helps run the building.

‘A pleasure to welcome you back, Captain Rogers,’ the voice tells him, a mixture of fond and humble that he can’t help but wonder _how_.

‘Thank you, JARVIS, it’s great to meet you again,’ he smiles at the ceiling where he hears the voice coming from.

They come to a stop on a floor that has no number on it and Steve is amazed to see that it is a literal apartment with a view that faces Central Park. He drops his bag and stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows, awed by the sight of the city lights and how far away they are from the ground. He wants to see everything; how the city looks bathed during the twilight hours, under a bright sunny day, covered in fog and sleet from the rain, the highlights it’ll make with the presence of the full moon. He wants to paint it all and he regrets not bringing any more of his art supplies except his a sketchbook and a couple of pencils with him because this is a one in a lifetime opportunity.

‘It’s beautiful,’ he says, breathless as he watches the never-ending traffic beneath their feet.

‘I know, right? A little slice of heaven right here at the tip of your nose,’ Tony puffs out in pride as he gestures at the view with his arm.

‘Damn...’ he sighs as he backs away from the window, unable to tear his eyes away until he almost trips over the glass coffee table. He sits down at the nearest couch with a little _whump_.

‘Glad you like it. See you tomorrow morning,’ Tony grins as he and Pepper step back into the open lift.

‘Sure, see you tomorrow morning,’ he says distractedly until it occurs to him he doesn’t know which room is his.

Tony laughs at him, not unkindly, ‘The whole _floor_ is yours!’

‘What?’

‘Bye!’

‘ _What?!_ ’ He shouts as the doors close after them and he’s left standing in the middle of a seriously uptown apartment that he knows most people would _kill_ to be given the chance to stand in, even for a moment, and he’s got the whole floor to himself?

‘Un-be-lievable,’ he says through a whoosh of air as he sinks back down onto the coffee table, unable to wrap his head around the fact that Tony hasn’t just given him a really nice guest room to lay his head down but a seriously amazing guest _floor_ with a breathtaking view and top-of-the-line appliances in every facet of the entire place. ‘What even is my life?’

‘You are a Captain of the Army Special Forces, Sir, currently recovering from a head injury that resulted in some memory loss.’

Steve jolts in surprise; he didn’t know that JARVIS was wired through this apartment either although it makes sense if the A.I. was helping with the smooth operations of the entire building.

There is a short pause before JARVIS speaks again, ‘Ah, it appears to me that was a rhetorical question.’

Steve laughs and bids JARVIS goodnight, deciding he’ll spend his first night sleeping on the couch so he can wake up to the rising sun.

It is the best damn couch he’s ever slept on.

\--

 


	9. Chapter 9

The view is nothing he expected it to be – it’s so much _more_. He wakes up when it’s still dark, lying on his side facing out the windows, and sees the sky slowly brightening up by the minute, the lights winking off one by one and the city _breathe_ as the sun hits the east-face of the buildings. It’s beautiful, the colors so much better now he can see the entirety of the spectrum available to the human eye and he vows to buy a couple of canvases and paint the world from this view.

He stretches into the couch, thinking about Bucky, wondering if he should touch base with him because it’s been a long time since they’ve talked properly outside of that one conversation via text messaging. He doesn’t know what to do – he’s still angry but he doesn’t want to keep stewing in that anger. Bucky has the right to move on and start on his own family. For all they talked about marrying each other when they were younger, things were bound to change as they grew up. Obviously the military lifestyle wasn’t conducive to maintaining a healthy relationship especially when he was only able to come back every six or so months for barely a couple of weeks at a time.

Steve gets it, _he does_ , but it doesn’t make it hurt any less once he found out about it. It would’ve been better if Bucky told him outright, like ripping off a band-aid – “Steve, I’m married to somebody else.” – instead of finding out in the middle of a grocery run. Or maybe not. It’ll hurt either way but what’s done is done; might as well get over it.

It’s just a little after six in the morning; there’s a good chance Bucky might already be awake by now, so he bites the bullet and decides to give the brunet a call. He’s surprised when it’s picked up on the second ring.

‘Steve?’ He starts, his voice a little bit stunned and just a tad apprehensive.

‘Yeah, hey, good morning,’ he says as he sits up on the couch and finally decides to toe off his socks.

There’s a small hysterical laugh on the other end, bordering on maniacal giggling, ‘Yeah. Yeah, it’s—’

Steve hears Bucky exhale a shaky breath and a dry sniff, followed by the rustle of fabric. ‘Did you just wake up?’

‘No. I—no,’ Bucky clears his throat quietly before he asks, ‘where are you? Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine. I’m staying with a friend. Their couch is pretty damn good,’ he tries to joke, enjoying the view of the world waking up beneath him.

There’s a small choking sound and Bucky’s voice begging him, ‘Steve, please come back.’

‘I can take care of myself,’ he tells him, trying his best not to feel patronized because he knows this is just how Bucky can be sometimes, can border and skirt too close to the line of overbearing. Maybe nine years hasn’t changed him all that much after all. ‘I’m just calling to let you know I’m fine.’

‘We need to talk. About Natasha and Liliana and...I’ll tell you everything, I swear. Please, let me explain.’

He shakes his head, his heart breaking at the desperation in Bucky’s voice, the pauses and the tremor in his words, and he has to steel himself and his heart. ‘Okay. You can tell me over the phone,’ he says as he curls his fingers over the edge of the couch cushions, preparing himself to hear what else they got up to, or not, during the last nine years.

‘No!’ He shouts, the force of his voice surprising Steve, ‘No, I...I need to see you, please.’

Steve swallows and wishes his heart wasn’t in his throat as he closes his eyes and tries to focus on his breathing, in and out, in and out. ‘I’m not ready to see you, Buck,’ he murmurs softly, his fingers tightening over the supple leather until his hand is shaking, his whole body is shaking.

‘I’m so— _fuck_ , I’m sorry. I should’ve just—I shouldn’t have let it—I fucked up, I know. I’m so sorry. Steve, _please_.’

He can hear Bucky crying and he hates that it’s because of him, it’s always because of him – Steve getting admitted to the hospital for pneumonia, Steve graduating high school with a full ride to his top college, Steve’s ma dying then dead then buried in the ground. He shudders at the memories because Bucky has never let anybody else get to him the way Steve has and he’s _ruined_ ; they both are.

Ruined for each other.

‘I can’t,’ he says through a wobble as he repeats the words, shaking his head as he squeeze his eyes shut, his head bowed over his feet and feeling the droplets of water land on his ankle, on his toes. He has to force himself to breathe but they’re shallow and he can hear Bucky on the other end of the line struggling with him.

God, don’t they make a sad picture?

Eventually, he calms down enough to say, ‘I got Liliana something; I’ll send it as soon as I can.’

‘Yeah?’ He starts, sniffing wetly.

Steve’s throat clicks as he tries to smile through his next words, ‘Yeah. I think she’ll like it. It’s a green apple plush toy.’

There’s a small breath of laughter and another wet sniff as he murmurs over the phone, ‘She loves anything she gets from her Uncle Steve.’

He smiles as he wipes the tears away with the sleeve of his hooded sweater. His face feels disgusting and he needs a wash but he continues to sit on the couch with no real plans to get up any time soon. ‘I’ll send you a selfie, okay?’

‘Yeah, okay.’

‘Bye,’ he waits to hear an echo before he hangs up the call, exiting to the main page to find the camera app. He twists around on the couch until he finds an angle that doesn’t leave a dark shadow or a big glare on the screen and taps on the button once he’s satisfied. He sends it and receives a text message within seconds, Bucky obviously having waited for it since they hung up.

 _Nice beard_.

_Thanks. I think I’ll keep it for a while._

_Suits you. You look good. I miss you._

Steve chuckles as the choppy sentences but he returns the sentiment, finishing off the text with; _Take care of yourself, Buck._

\--

It’s almost 9 in the morning when he decides he’s done enough sitting around doing nothing other than think, think, _think_ , but just as he’s taking out a clean change of clothes for a shower the elevator rings and the doors open to a barrage of words and technical jargons Steve can’t quite wrap his head around. He peers over the couch to see Tony in dark grey sweatpants and a black singlet making a beeline for the coffee machine with a blinking blue light while Pepper walks in with a smile and a greeting, dressed in a dark blue three-quarter trousers and a peach sleeveless blouse.

‘Hi, good morning,’ he returns as he slips his clothes back into the bag to join them by the kitchen island.

‘Wow, you look like shit,’ Tony comments as he works the mini-espresso machine like a pro, putting the fresh coffee beans through the grinder before pouring some milk into the metal cup. ‘Did JARVIS keep you up?’ He asks, a grin on his face that is not at all apologetic if it were true.

‘No. I slept just fine,’ he tells him, opting not to let them know about his phone call with Bucky just a while ago.

The dark-haired man scoffs, seemingly disappointed as he tamps some coffee grounds into the portafilter and gets the machine started. The smell of coffee begins to gently permeate through the kitchen and Steve quietly inhales the smell, lets it slowly wake up the rest of his senses better than a shower ever could while Tony gets the milk warmed up and frothy.

Steve watches as Tony sets the first cup down in front of Pepper, who smiles and kisses him on the cheek before taking a sip. 

‘How do you take your coffee?’ Tony asks and Steve blanks out for a moment, surprised he’s not being told to make his own damn coffee but he remains reserved as he says he takes it with milk and one sachet of raw sugar.

He’s surprised again when the dark-haired man sets down a cup in front of him, too, but he holds back on the kiss as he brings the coffee up to his nose for a deep breath through his nose. It smells perfect, and it tastes better than any of the coffees he’s ever had. He’s breathless with it.

There’s a hint of pride on Tony’s face as he tells him about the imported beans, free-trade, the best of the best and nothing but the best for Pepper and his guests.

Pepper smiles fondly at him as she leans on her elbow, her face tucked in the groove of her palm, one eyebrow raised.

‘And myself, obviously,’ he adds belatedly as he makes his coffee black and drinks it once he’s milked out the last drop of caffeine.

She laughs as she walks through the kitchen, hip-checking as she passes him to grab a chopping board, a knife, and a few fresh fruits from the bowl nearby – two passion fruits, and a mango. Tony grabs a bowl from the pantry for her as she cuts into the fruits, segmenting the flesh from the seed of the mango with ease.

‘Can you get the watermelon from the fridge, please?’ Pepper asks and Tony obeys.

Steve’s a little surprised by the tropical fruits but, then again, Tony is rich enough to be able to afford anything he wants, even outside of the normal season.

It’s just as Pepper is cutting the watermelon into bite-sized pieces that a little ringtone emanates from the ceiling.

‘Apologies, Ms. Potts,’ JARVIS is saying as she begins to put the fruits into the bowl for mixing, ‘this is just a reminder for the last few items you’d like to address in the office.’

It’s weirdly vague, but Steve guesses it’s because he’s not actually an employee of Stark and is not actually allowed to know certain business dealings of the company. He doesn’t take any offence but he’s stunned that she still has to do work even over the weekend.

‘Thank you, JARVIS.’

‘You still have to work?’ Steve asks as she scoops up a portion into a bowl, getting a good mix of all three fruits onto the spoon and eating it.

‘Just a couple of things; won’t take me more than an hour. We’ll do brunch later, okay?’ She smiles as she gives them a little wave before stepping into the elevator without having to push the button for it. ‘You two boys play nice.’

‘Yes, honey,’ Tony grins as he returns the wave before helping himself to the salad and pushing the rest towards Steve. ‘I know you can finish that so go ahead.’

‘Uh...’ he looks down at the bowl. It’s easily three times the amount Tony and Pepper took. He won’t have any trouble finishing it off but he feels bad for hoarding the food, even if it is offered. ‘Sure you don’t wanna take some more?’

He makes a face at the suggestion. ‘I hate fruits; I’m more of a smoothie kind of guy.’

‘Then make a smoothie.’

‘Lazy,’ he says through a mouthful of mango and passion fruit.

Steve snorts but starts digging into the salad. The mango is sweet and creamy, the passion fruit tangy, the watermelon light and providing the mouth-watering crunch. He can’t remember the last time he’s had a mango but it must’ve been when he was young, definitely when his ma was still around. They were probably those frozen ones all cut up in a bag instead of a fruit fresh from the market. He watches Tony spit out the watermelon seeds while Steve doggedly swallows them down without a problem.

‘Fruits are so over-rated,’ Tony mutters as he puts his bowl into the sink and leans back on the counter facing Steve, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at him with a focussed look that makes Steve feel like a cell sample being examined under a microscope.

Steve ignores him and continues to chomp through the salad, finishing it off and drinking the juice gathered at the bottom of the bowl, smacking his lips with an _ahhh_ of satisfaction. The spoon clatters in the bowl and he leans his elbows onto the countertop, crossing his arm over the marble and returns the stare with raised eyebrows. He has a feeling that maybe Tony is working himself up to something but he has no idea what – his interactions and experiences with the man is limited to two conversations and a lot of secondhand accounts of their...dynamic personalities clashing.

Eventually, Tony pushes himself off the counter, his arms still crossed but his expression determined as he tilts his head towards the lift, ‘You up for a little show and tell?’ He asks and doesn’t wait for an answer before he walks off. Steve finds he doesn’t really have a reason to say no so he gets up and follows, padding after him barefoot in the same manner as Tony.

‘You’re not taking me to one of those places where it’s top secret and you have to kill me once it’s all said and done, right?’ He jokes as the doors slide shut behind them and they’re going back down.

Tony snorts but there’s a smirk on his face and a glint in his eyes as he lets JARVIS know to take them to storage floor 13.

‘Storage floor 13? How much space do you need? All of the lower level floors are huge,’ he doesn’t quite shout but he can’t hold back his shock. Maybe Tony just likes the number 13. Maybe the floors are segmented into different rooms to hold different things. Maybe it’s a shared space with an office level included and the storeroom is just a small part of it.

The elevators eventually slow to a stop, the doors opening to let in a rush of cool air, dry; obviously climate-controlled. Steve can see boxes upon boxes of stuff with messy scrawled writing on the sides piled up in a corner of the room. There are a few things hidden under large tarps to keep whatever’s underneath free from dust. There are display cases with the lights switched off but from what he can see, there are a few memorabilia that looks military; old and worn. There’s a good mixture of things here, nothing to really give it a specific theme except that it could be dated from decades ago. Steve’s not an expert on any of these things so he’s a little confused as he continues to follow Tony into the room, progressively going deeper and deeper, the lights coming on as they walk through.

Tony eventually stops in front of a shelving unit with boxes and large folders placed neatly in rows. He starts thumbing through it, pulling them out one by one and pushing them back with a mild grunt whenever he doesn’t quite find what he’s looking for. Steve looks around while the other’s busy with whatever he’s doing and he sees an ornate desk a few feet away, with papers, fountain pens, a portable lamp and even a phone. Nothing’s plugged in but it looks as if it was transported as is, untouched from the moment it left the office floor to here in the storage levels. It’s made of dark wood but covered in a light fluttering of dust and Steve wonders why it is the way it is when Tony finally finds what he’s looking for; a box on the very bottom shelf that looks like it’s been opened and closed a few times before.

‘What’s that?’ He asks as Tony puts it down on top of the papers, a cloud of dust puffing away, displaced by the force of the drop. He swipes away the pens, one of them clattering heavily on the floor that goes completely ignored by the dark-haired man.

Steve picks it up, examining the tip and is relieved to see that it’s still fine. He knows these things are expensive and he knows anything in here would be worth at least twice more than anything he would’ve thought to buy for himself. He places it gently down by the phone next to a half-used notepad and waits for Tony to explain why they’re here.

‘Nine years, huh?’ Tony starts without preamble, ‘maybe you can fill in some blanks with these,’ he says as he lifts the lid and takes out a frame photograph, handing it over and barely waiting for Steve to take a hold of it before letting go.

It’s a photo of himself, when he was younger and much smaller than he is now, along with a smattering of people. He recognizes Bruce Banner in the photo, hair a little shorter but just as shaggy, looking a little awkward as he stands off to the side but still smiling for the camera. On Steve’s left is an old man with kind eyes amplified by his round glasses. He has salt-and-pepper hair, a little bit frizzy that reminds Steve of Einstein and he realizes with a start, ‘Is this Dr. Erskine?’

‘Yup, and that guy on the other side is my dad.’

The man on his right is younger in appearance to Dr. Erskine but he can see the family resemblance in his eyes and his nose reflected back at him in Tony’s own face. He holds the photo frame reverently; these are the two men that helped him get to where he is now, who gave him a body that can breathe, that can stand up straight, that can see colour. He feels overwhelmed seeing them but not know who they were, what they were like and why they chose him of all the millions of other people that live in New York.

Tony throws down an open folder next to him, letting him see the papers and photos held together by a paperclip. He sees a different version of the before and after picture of his body from what he saw in the media and there’s a long list of medical ailments on him that vanished once the procedure was completed and a success. Interspersed throughout the folder are digital printouts of Steve’s interaction with everybody that was possibly involved in the program. He can see Peggy in a few of them, standing tall and immovable, and a couple of Phillips with what seems to be a perpetual frown. Erskine features in a good majority of them but what stands out the most are the candid shots of himself hanging out with Howard Stark like he’s not just a candidate to the program but as friends.

Steve peers up at Tony but sees him frowning down at another opened folder, flipping through some pages and reading what’s on there. He looks back down at the picture of the skinny version of himself looking down at a table covered in printed paper, listening intently while Howard points and explains. There’s another newer shot of Howard showing off a trinket with Steve laughing uproariously in casual army gear, his head thrown back and his hands over his chest. That one looks as if he’d just finished a mission, or training or something because there’s dirt on his face, a cut on his upper eyebrow and a rip in his sleeve. He looks through the others and there all the same – just moments of friendship shared between two people that Steve is starting to feel guilty about because, if he remembers correctly, Tony didn’t exactly get along with his dad.

‘Thank you for showing this to me,’ he says as he looks at the photo of the entire group sitting around at a wide dining table sharing food before closing the folder and putting it beside him. Seeing them hasn’t knocked loose any memories in his head but he appreciates the gesture, appreciates Tony helping him even though it’s obvious that the other man would prefer to have nothing to do with his dad.

‘My dad loved you like a son he never had,’ he mutters as he’s putting his file down and giving Steve another photo frame, this time of Steve standing next to Howard in his new body, both of them with an arm over each other’s shoulders. When he looks up there’s a moment of regret in Tony’s glare but he looks away to rummage through the rest of the box, just moving things around. ‘I used to think that if I was smart enough then I’d be good enough,’ he snorts, his expression turning dark and scornful, ‘but it turns out that it’s not smarts he wants but...you, I guess,’ he finishes with a shrug, pulls his hands back out of the box to hold the edges with a white-knuckled grip.

‘I...’ He doesn’t know what to say. Sorry doesn’t make sense because while it’s him in the photo _it’s not him_ either. 

‘I tried, you know?’ Tony says as he stares in the general vicinity of Steve’s elbow, a cruel smirk on his face, ‘Because what kid wouldn’t try to get his old man’s approval, right?’

Steve doesn’t remember his dad but he knows what Tony means; he did whatever he could to make sure his ma was proud of him, even when all he could do was draw a couple of silly pictures with some god-awful shading.

‘I tried, but it didn’t help that good ol’ _dad_ was more focussed on you than on his dead-beat son.’

He shakes his head vehemently, ‘You’re not a dead-beat—’

‘Yeah, I was,’ he cuts in and waves his finger next to his head in a tight circle, ‘Hindsight and all that, but I’m trying. And I’m trying to see past you for... _you_ , if that makes any sense.’

If it were anybody else saying that same thing, and if it weren’t for the fact that there are two opposing images of himself he’s contending with, he probably wouldn’t get it. But he does; he gets it.

‘Thanks, for giving me another chance.’

Tony shrugs, but there’s a slightly softer look to him as he busies himself with putting away the files, folders and the photos. ‘It’s a two-way street.’

Steve watches the dark-haired man put the lid back on the box and sliding it back into place on the shelf before going deeper into the room. He’s not sure what else Tony wants to show him but he follows after him at a sedate pace. It’s only now that he realizes that a lot of the things here must’ve belonged to Howard. That Tony decided to give this floor to the entirety of his dad’s belongings, or maybe more.

As soon as Steve sees it he knows immediately where Tony is taking him and what he wants to show next. It’s the trinket that was in the photo that had looked like a small satellite dish flipped upside-down in Howard’s hand but is actually just two upturned bowls with pipes connecting them together. It looks familiar but he doesn’t quite know what to make of it as Tony picks it up and passes it over to him.

There’s a plug missing, maybe a connector, and an “on” button on the side. It honestly looks like a mini fondue set but he doesn’t know why he’d been laughing like this is the best joke of the century.

‘Is this...?’ He starts, unsure how to finish because he doesn’t want to seem stupid.

‘Yup. It’s _exactly_ what you think it is,’ he says with a bewildered look on his face like he doesn’t know whether to think his dad was crazy or he wants to laugh at the weird sense of humour.

Steve turns it this way and that – maybe it’s not actually a fondue set; maybe it’s something else. Maybe they have to switch it on and see what it’s actually supposed to do. When he pitches the idea Tony rolls his eyes and tells him that he’s already tried to figure it out and _no_ , it’s not hiding anything and _yes_ , he’s tried everything.

Okay, so, he’s holding a mini fondue set. Weird. ‘I don’t get it.’

Tony holds his hands up and shakes his head. ‘Don’t look at me.’

He stares at Tony, incredulous and feeling stupid as he holds onto the item and feels the corners of his lips start to shakily quirk upward, sees the same thing happening to Tony’s face. Before long they’re doubled over in laughter in an almost mirror-image of the photograph he saw earlier except he’s holding onto a fondue set that he has _no clue_ what’s so funny about and maybe that’s just it, maybe it doesn’t actually mean anything. Maybe it’s just an inside-joke that the 30-year old Steve shared with Howard just as this will be his inside-joke he’ll share with his son.

It feels good, and he feels the last vestiges of doubt wash away as he laughs alongside Tony, enjoying his company when he’d dreaded it before. It’s how Pepper finds them, laughing at the far end of storage floor 13 with a stupid fondue set in his hand and an arm around Tony. It’s the stupidest thing but it’s one of the best feelings he’s had since waking up.

‘What on earth is going on here?’ She asks, her eyes round and a little bit surprised.

‘ _Fondue_!!’ Tony shouts through a snigger and it’s enough to get them both going again. It’s not even funny except how it is.

‘Oh my g—JARVIS, take me back upstairs,’ she pleads as Steve echoes after Tony, shouting out _Fondue_ like no tomorrow.

\--

  


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super late. Like, whoa. 
> 
> It's been very busy, and not always in a productive way. -sob- Someone send me more hours in a day, please.

It’s easy to stay and hang out with Tony in a way he hadn’t expected it would. He knows that at least half the reason why he hadn’t been looking forward to meeting him was the fact that he’d already judged the man and how their future interactions were going to go based on the things he’d been told through other people. Sam, Riley and the boys might’ve gotten a kick out of their explosive exchanges but hearing different accounts of how they behaved around another _poorly_ only further cemented the fact that he would happily go without seeing or meeting Tony Stark, _ever_. Steve regrets ever coming to that conclusion, especially now as he’s watching Tony weld something together in his lab that has the potential to either be spectacular or blow up in their faces as JARVIS runs calculations in the background while simultaneously ensuring the safety of the occupants of the building and the security of the business itself.

They’ve had one skype conversation with the boys and the beginning of the call went over just about as great as he expected it would go. As in, they saw Steve hanging out with Tony and they all burst out in various sounds of _oooooh_ and _whoa_ , smacking into each other’s arms and shoulders and being shocked by the fact they’re actually getting along outside of the army base. It was great, and he had fun. He thinks Tony had fun, too, even if getting him to admit it was like pulling teeth.

‘Is your...uh...helper supposed to be doing that?’ He asks when he notices the little robot with a DUNCE cap on it starts shifting its...head from side to side and making little chirrup noises that sound pretty cute. It makes him think of a little parakeet with a built-in fire extinguisher.

‘Leave him,’ Tony says as he continues to make sparks fly, not even bothering to look away from what he’s doing. ‘He probably just wants attention. The diva.’

Steve snorts a little and rolls his eyes at that, knowing full well that the little robot must’ve learnt his diva tendencies through watching and living with Tony. But he starts to worry a little bit more when the robot doesn’t let up on the little noises and the twitching, seemingly growing frantic but Tony continues to pay it absolutely no mind as he works.

He eventually catches on that the robot was trying to warn Tony about fire safety because the rag he keeps tucked in his front pocket catches fire, the grease stains burning from prolonged exposure to the sparks from the welding torch. Tony swears, jumping a little bit at the sudden heat so very near his crotch but the robot comes to his rescue, spraying the fire extinguisher at him in a wide arc starting from his knees to the top of his covered head. The fire’s out within seconds and Steve laughs at the picture Tony makes – half of him greased-stained while the other is a pristine white.

‘Good boy!’ Steve applauds the robot while Tony belatedly clicks off the welder, pushing the safety mask off his face and frowning deeply as his partially burnt jeans that he can see through the white crust of the fire suppressant. The robot bobbles its head at Steve that makes him think its bowing. The thing is so cute that he can’t help but pet it a little bit. For an inorganic being, the way it behaves in such a lifelike manner astounds him.

‘I need a drink,’ Tony mutters as he puts his tools down and starts heading towards a bar located at the corner of his workshop, flicking off bits of the fire suppresant from his body as he goes. Alcohol and machinery doesn’t seem like a great idea to Steve but he’s not here to judge.

‘Where can I get me one of these?’ Steve asks as the robot starts to clean up the mess he made with a semi-clean rag that he grabbed from another nearby bench.

‘You want him? You can have him,’ he says as he pours himself a glass, the amber colour beautiful under the bright lights of the room.

‘Nah, I think you need him more,’ he grins as another robot comes closer and nudges its head to him, too, asking for the same treatment. He can’t help but think of them as dogs; lovable and loyal.

‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ the dark-haired man sighs as he throws back the alcohol and comes back to clear up his table of some of the mess, putting away some of the tools and telling DUM-E and U where to puts things away, ‘And for gosh-darn’s sake, _don’t drop it like you did last time_ ,’ he tells them but his tone is playful enough that Steve isn’t worried when U immediately, despite taking much care in picking up whatever it is that Tony was working on, accidentally drops it with a loud clatter. Tony rolls his eyes but he can tell that it’s more fond than irritated as he grabs a dirty cloth and starts to wipe himself down.

It’s just about an hour past midday when they finally break away from the tech room – a new record because, as Steve has come to find out, Tony either forgets to eat or he forgets to sleep. Pepper has confessed that Tony is prone to forgetting both, mostly getting by through sheer willpower and an unhealthy amount of caffeine or alcohol, or both if he’s feeling particularly daring, which is often.

‘I feel like shawarma. You want shawarma? I’ll get us some shawarma. JARVIS, what’s a man gotta do to get some shawarma in the building?’

‘Apparently by saying it repeatedly, Sir,’

‘Maybe you should lay off on the coffee,’ Steve suggests as they get on the elevator that seems to always arrive whenever they need it. He knows it’s JARVIS’ doing and it is wonderfully convenient not to have to wait minutes for it to appear.

He waves it off, ‘Pssh, what’re you talking about? I’ve only had five cups.’

‘You’ve had five cups of pure espresso filled to the brim. That’s enough, Tony.’

‘What’re you, my mother?’

‘I’ll sic Pepper on you,’ he threatens with a finger, daring Tony to try him.

‘You wouldn’t,’ he says lowly with narrowed eye, raising his head and jutting his chin out defiantly.

The elevator slows to a stop and the doors open to let them out but neither of them move, each of them waiting for the other to back down.

‘Oh, joy. When Pepper told me you guys were getting along great I was hoping I wouldn’t have to see this _ever again_ ,’ an unfamiliar voice speaks up and Steve turns to see a dark-skinned man with a close-cropped hairstyle and his arms akimbo, seemingly unimpressed by what he’s seeing.

Steve flusters a little bit while Tony grins and pulls the man into a bear hug, saying that they were only kidding around. ‘No harm, no foul,’ he says with a shrug and gestures for Steve to get out of the lifts. ‘Steve, I want you to meet James Rhodes; my best buddy since we were practically in diapers.’

An easy grin appears on the man’s face, smoothing down the lines and making him a lot more approachable. Steve smiles back and accepts the handshake thrown his way, ‘Nice to meet you again.’

‘It’s good to see you back on your feet. How’re things going for you?’ He asks, patting Steve on his arm and guiding him inside where he can see Pepper getting a salad ready and asking Tony if he set himself on fire  _again_.

‘Good. Not much going in the memory department but I’ve had a lot of help filling in the blanks,’ he says as he takes a seat by the kitchen counter while Tony busies himself with getting drinks of the non-caffeinated and the non-alcoholic kind for everybody, himself included after a stern look from all of them.

‘How far along is Shawarma?’ Tony asks, his tone almost begging as he sips an apple juice and makes a face at it, looking at it like he wishes it was a tall glass of brandy instead.

‘By my estimation, Sir, ten minutes. I shall let you know when the delivery arrives.’

‘Good man,’ he grins as he talks one last gulp of the juice before sliding it towards Pepper, leaning down onto the table propped up on an elbow, looking expectantly at James. ‘So, what brings you back stateside? Business or pleasure?’ He asks with a raunchy grin and an exaggerated wink.

‘Both,’ he answers, impervious or maybe just used to Tony’s behaviour, ‘I’ve got three days of leave before I have to bring your next defence upgrades for a demonstration.’

‘A demonstration? Without me? How dare!’ Tony straightens, looking scandalized, topped off with a dainty hand over his chest.

James sighs, dropping his head for a moment before looking back up at Tony. ‘Well, you know, you’re welcome to come along but I figured that you wouldn’t have fun if Steve wasn’t around.’

‘Pssh, what’re you even talking about? Steve can come with us.’

‘Uh, Tony, no.’

‘One good reason.’

Steve watches the both of them throw counter after counter at each other, peering at Pepper to see how she’s taking their interaction but she doesn’t seemed too alarmed or even shocked by the turn of events, offering Steve a bowl of greens, cucumbers, tomatoes and salad dressing before portioning some more into another bowl.

‘Okay, fine, Steve might technically have the clearance to be on the base but he also _doesn’t_ ,’ James says as he thanks Pepper for his own bowl, holding it in one hand as he explains in wide gestures with the other. ‘He’s also technically on _leave_ until stated otherwise so until then he’s pretty much a civilian.’

‘I’m a civilian; I’m allowed on base.’

‘Tony, _no_.’

‘It’s only for a couple of days, okay? I mean, honestly? What harm will it do him?’ He reasons as he drags the big bowl over towards him and starts eating into it, barely allowing himself to swallow before he keeps on talking, ‘Seriously, it could even help the guy out.’

Steve coughs pointedly to remind them that he’s actually in the same room as them. James looks a little sheepish but Tony remains unfazed as he viciously bites off a tomato from the fork. ‘Do I have a say?’

‘You want in or out?’ Tony asks point-blank.

He thinks about it – thinks about seeing the rest of his team, actually spending time with them and not just for an hour or so through a screen, thinks about talking with Peggy and Phillips and experiencing the life the 30-year old Steve led and walk through his old footsteps. He thinks about it and he nods. He wants in.

‘Well, there you have it. Tell him no, Rhodey,’ Tony dares as he nonchalantly spears a couple of cucumbers and pushes it through the salad dressing gathered at the bottom of the bowl before popping them into his mouth.

James frowns deeply, obviously troubled and uncertain. Steve feels uncomfortable by the silence from the man and wonders if perhaps they pushed the subject too far. He wants desperately to go now only because it’s been offered to him. If he hadn’t been around to hear the conversation he wouldn’t have been the wiser whether the verdict was a yes or no; he wouldn’t have care because he wouldn’t have been there to see it unfold.

Steve pushes the last tomato around in his bowl, eating around it until he hears a put-upon sigh from James beside him.

‘Fine. I’ll make a couple of calls.’

Tony makes an overly enthusiastic whoop of victory coupled with a fist-pump, getting an eye-roll from James and a fond head shake from Pepper. Steve is thankful for Tony pushing on his behalf because he doubts he would’ve tried as hard. He probably would’ve remained on the fence about it until somebody said something to push him one way or the other. In this case, it was the possibility of being told _no_ that got him to want the chance to further heal himself in a different environment.

He wants so desperately to remember.

‘Sir, Happy is on his way up with shawarma,’ JARVIS announces, earning a double whoop and another fist-dump.

\--

There’s a message waiting for him after he’s come out of his shower, dressed in light clothes and ready for bed. He scrubs the towel through his hair and face, leaves it hanging over his shoulder as he picks up his phone and unlocks it.

Bucky had sent him a short video of Liliana opening her present, eyes and mouth wide with sheer joy as she holds onto the plush close as if it’s something amazing even though he got it for just a few bucks at the booth in Coney Island. He laughs as the video loops over again and raises the volume just enough to hear the sound of ripping paper, a high-pitched scream, a little squeak from the apple followed by a very exuberant “Thank you, Uncle Steve!!” from her.

He makes the decision to call him and is pleased to hear Liliana pick up the call with an excited voice saying how much she loves it, that she’ll look after it and she’ll put it next to her bed and hold it when she goes to sleep.

‘Speaking of sleep, shouldn’t you be in bed by now, little miss?’ He teases and is delighted to hear her giggling and demurely say that she’s allowed another hour since it’s Saturday, meaning that she gets another _twenty_ _minutes_ before her bedtime.

‘But tomorrow night I’m back to sleep early,’ she tells him, explaining in a no-nonsense manner that speaks of routine and habit. ‘I have to sleep early on Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.’

‘Good girl,’ Steve praises and smiles at her giggle down the line before she starts talking about what she’s been up to at school, the field trip out to the botanical gardens, what it was like watching their classroom caterpillar drag itself out of its shell to turn into a butterfly _and_ how much she’s missed him.

‘I bet you only miss me for my apple pie,’ he kids and grins so hard at the sound of her laughter as she says “ _nooooo_ ” into the phone, feeling the muscles of his face get a workout from talking with her.

He hears a woman’s voice in the background, probably Natasha, and she sounds a little far away with the tiniest of echoes, telling Lily that she needs to brush her teeth and get ready for bed. She begs her for another five minutes but Natasha gives her no quarter.

‘Listen to Mama Nat; go brush your teeth,’ Steve tells her, listening to her whine a little bit and saying “ _awwwwwh_...” even though a part of him wants to say: _what’s five more minutes to a kid_? But he’s not the parent and he knows what it’s like being a kid – give him an inch and he’ll push for a mile, never mind the fact that he can’t actually get that far when he was younger. ‘You can hug your apple goodnight and sleep with them.’

‘Okay,’ she says softly and he can hear the pout in her voice that he can’t help but smile at as he tells her goodnight and asks her to give the phone back to Papa Buck. He listens to the quick exchange between Lily and Bucky, with Natasha in the background beckoning their daughter over to the bathroom to begin the nightly bedtime ritual.

‘Hey, Steve.’

‘Hey,’ he echoes, smiling at the phone as he lies down on his bed and closes his eyes, listening to Bucky’s voice and how good he sounds. He misses him with an ache in his chest but being away from him has been good; he’s sure the distance has given them the perspective they desperately needed.

‘How’s everything on your end?’

‘Good. It’s been real good. I’ve met up with a few friends, we got to talking, and...geez, I never knew I made so many friends over the years.’

‘Yeah,’ he chuckles, sounding wistful, ‘once everybody saw what I saw then it was nothing but smooth sailing from there on out. I always said you had it in you.’

‘You did,’ he remembers when they were younger, with skinned knees and blood-stained teeth, that the only reason why nobody wanted to be friends with Steve was because they couldn’t see what Bucky saw; that he’s loyal and steadfast. He also remembers Bucky saying that it was okay because it meant they didn’t have to share each other with nobody. ‘I remember.’

‘Good, because if you didn’t then I’d be worried; it was only thirteen years ago, punk. Well, ten for me, four for you.’

‘Jerk,’ he retorts, devolving into childish antics like sticking his tongue out even though Bucky isn’t there to see it.

‘Hey, tell me who you’ve met up with.’

‘I stayed over with Sam and Riley for a while,’ he starts, thinking back of the chance meeting on the side of the road next to a motel he’d spent the first night at. He talks about skyping with his team overseas, meeting Peggy and Phillips again, spending an hour or so at a time chatting with them about twice a week depending on their availability. He brings up meeting another army buddy in the park, and his dog named Lucky, and how they signed for almost all of their conversations.

‘Wow, how did that go?’

‘It was great. He lip-reads, too, which is really cool.’

He barks out a laugh, ‘Yeah, I know how badly that worked out for you sometimes,’ he chuckles lowly and Steve can’t help but blush a little bit in memory at the few times he’s tried to learn lip-reading through watching Bucky but ended up getting a little too distracted by them, kissing him instead of trying to persevere through the temptation.

Safe to say, he didn’t get very far with it.

‘Awh, jeez, Buck; you’re not gonna let me live that down?’

‘No way,’ he tells him and Steve can hear the grin in his voice, how relaxed he sounds. He can almost imagine it; Bucky lying back on the couch, one arm tucked behind him and a carefree smile on his face, his posture completely at ease. He wants to see him. Maybe not just yet, but soon – he’s slowly getting there; he’s slowly taking Bruce’s advice to heart to just live as best as he can with what he’s got.

The both of them talk a bit more, falling into conversation the easy way it’s always been between the two of them, talking about everything and nothing with barely a gap or a pause. Steve talks about how much he’s been wanting a dog ever since he met Lucky, wants to buy another couple of sketchbooks because the one he’s got is filling up too fast now that he’s drawing pretty much every day, wonders if it’s bad that he’s got a driver’s licence even though he doesn’t actually know how to drive. Bucky chats about what working at the garage has been like for the last couple of weeks, brings up the report card that Liliana got and how _proud_ he is of her, how Natasha said he and Liliana screamed like little girls at the _huge_ spider they saw in the corner of the living room’s ceiling that she had to kill for them because _someone_ had to stop the two banshees.

‘It was the size of Lily’s hand! It was disgusting!’ He grumbles into the phone while Steve laughs at him, remembering the kind of screech Bucky made whenever he saw a creepy crawly he wasn’t prepared to deal with. ‘Come on; if you saw it you’d scream, too.’

‘No, Buck; it’s all you.’

‘You little punk.’

‘You deserve it, jerk,’ they dissolve into laughter, the kind that stops and starts in fits for minutes at a time before it peters out.

‘Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Natasha’s boyfriend won’t stop laughing in my face either.’

He stops breathing for a few seconds, ‘Excuse me?’

Bucky stutters a little bit before actually talking again, ‘Uh, I—yeah, that...I meant to tell you properly when...uh, when we, you know, actually _talk_.’

Steve can’t help frowning into his phone as he sits up, flinging the towel from his shoulder down next to him. ‘Natasha has a boyfriend and you’re _cool_ with it?’

‘Wait, wait,’ he backpedals, ‘Look, don’t jump to conclusions, okay? The both of us talked it through and...God, Steve, there’s so much I gotta fill in for you so you know how we all got to this point. Can we meet up over coffee sometime? Maybe during the week? Or whenever you want. Tomorrow, even.’

Whatever kernel of anger he had for Natasha vanishes under the pleading tone of Bucky’s voice; if he’s not angry or resentful over it then it must be fine – they must’ve talked about it; must’ve considered Liliana’s future as well. Steve knows nine years is a big gap to be missing but he’s willing to give Bucky and Natasha the benefit of the doubt; to let them fill up some of that empty space and to give him a portion of the bigger picture. He doesn’t realize he’s nodding until he hears Bucky’s voice and that he can’t see him.

‘Yeah, okay, coffee sounds good. I’ve got a pretty full day with Bruce tomorrow but what about your lunch hour on Monday?’

‘Yes, that sounds great.’

‘Okay. Cool,’ he smiles a little bit at the enthusiasm in Bucky’s voice and finds it infecting him a little bit – his back crawling with shivers at the thought of seeing the brunet again. He’d meant to tell Bucky about the possibility that he’ll be going overseas for a while – back to that place that screwed him over and send him bleeding out from a head injury that led to a trauma in the brain. He thought he could squeeze it in somewhere but he supposes that it’ll be better off done in person instead. He knows Bucky won’t like it but he deserves to know.

The end their call shortly after they’ve made some vague plans for Monday – Bucky says he’ll text him a nearby cafe that serves good coffee later and they’ll meet around noon. Steve hangs up, falling back onto bed feeling exhausted in a way he hadn’t expected. He curls up on top of the covers, enjoying the warmth from his body heat and the coolness of the sheets that his hand skims across.

He goes to sleep trying to keep his hopes tamped down to an acceptable level – just because Natasha is seeing somebody else doesn’t mean Bucky is interested in getting back with him.

\--

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY! So the final chapter count is going to be 20. THIS IS IT! I SWEAR TO GOODNESS!! 
> 
> My story plan is only 5 pages long, so I thought it'll only go up to about...I dunno, 10-13 chapters max, but oh wells~ 
> 
> (I'm having fun writing this, though, and I hope all of you enjoy reading it.)
> 
> =D

‘Behave,’ James tells the both of them as they arrive on base via air lift.

When Steve said he wanted in, he hadn’t expected for it to happen so quickly. He thought he’d be given clearance for _the next time_ James and Tony make their way out into the desert, maybe a couple of months down the road, not barely two and a half days _later_.

Steve had to cancel on the coffee meeting with Bucky, hastily trying to explain over the phone while the private plane was getting ready for take-off. It hadn’t gone so well, the both of them too flustered with things unsaid to be able to clear the air between them. He’d promise to contact him as soon as he’s back stateside; they’ll arrange another lunch together and properly talk.

‘I promise, okay?’ Steve tells him over the phone, grimacing as the hostess smiles at him patiently in her seat while the plane begins to slowly taxi out.

‘Yeah, okay. Just, please take care of yourself,’ Bucky begs, sounding just on the wrong side of desperate that Steve wishes it wasn’t because of him.

‘I will. I’m just going there to catch up with the boys. That’s it, I swear,’ he promises again and has to quickly say his goodbyes when the plane stops its reverse momentum and starts down doing the runway in preparation for takeoff. ‘I’ll see you when I get back,’ he says and barely waits long enough to hear the same from Bucky before hanging up and switching his phone off. He hadn’t had enough time to prepare himself for the long flight across the ocean, jittering with nerves almost the entire way, his anxiety ramping up when he catches sight of an airstrip just appearing on the horizon.

James is the first to jump off the aircraft with Tony following straight after, making off with a packed suitcase and not even keeping to protocol to wait for the green light before heading into the base like he owns the joint. Steve, helpless, can only follow after them.

The air is blistering hot and dry on his skin, and he can see the earth shimmering in the distance as the heat reflected off the sands and destroyed what little moisture hung in the air. There isn’t a single puff of cloud in the sky and his sunglasses are doing jack to stop him from squinting so much. Everything is bright and searing and he feels simultaneously at home and nauseous all at once.

He can see Tony veer off into another part of the compound while James keeps on track until he’s standing in front of another officer under the shade of a large building, offering a salute to one another and falling into a casual stance. Steve knows that he’s technically a civilian so he goes after Tony and hopes he doesn’t end up listening in to some sensitive information that’s not meant for his ears. Seeing James interact with another soldier didn’t stir any particular memories, no sense of ingrained disciplined learned through the years, the urge to snap to and stand up straight for his superiors. He’s unnerved in a way but is relieved he’s not defaulting to being a subordinate.

The dark-haired man eventually slips into a building and Steve runs in after him, immediately breathing in slightly cooler air and relieved down to his bones at the lower temperature that’s infinitely more tolerable than the outside. Maybe this is why Tony made a beeline for this place because he looks entirely comfortable at manoeuvring himself around the desks, chairs and occupants of the building, throwing out sloppy salutes and starting conversations he has no intention of finishing. It looks like a long hall that’s been converted into a large office space with filing cabinets acting as cubicle walls for the people who work there. There are rotating fans at regular intervals across the area, whirring at full speed to keep everybody more or less happy. As Steve hurries after Tony who’s steadily gaining some distance between them, he notices the stares thrown his way, some of them wide-eyed and some others with their mouths hanging open, and can’t help but walk a little bit faster to catch up.

There’s a double door at the end of the hall and Tony disappears right through it, making Steve sweat a little in hopes he doesn’t lose him because he’s not sure if James will still be at the last place he saw him at if he winds up lost. Maybe he’ll be able to wander around until he stumbles across one of the men in the Howling Commandos but there’s a good chance they could be off-base on a mission, too, so where is that gonna leave him?

‘Steve!’ 

He stops and turns, his mouth forming a grin at the sight of Jim holding onto a stack of papers that looks about ready to fall out of his hands. ‘Jimmy!’ He can’t help but shout as he detours around a desk, a fan and a couple of chairs, meeting Jim halfway who haphazardly drops the papers onto a nearby table and grabs him in for a hug, slapping his back and laughing like a loon.

‘I thought the heat was getting to me. Shit! When did you get in? How did you get in? Who did you get in with?’ He asks, his questions coming out quick that Steve almost misses the rest of the gang coming out of a side door with more papers of their own.

‘Well, howdy-do-dah-day!’ Dum Dum hollers as he crushes both him and Jim in his vice grip, the papers falling victim as well, lifting them an inch off the ground before dropping them back down. ‘Either that moonshine got me somethin’ good or I’m seeing the real deal.’

Steve laughs and accepts the hello’s and welcome back’s interspersed with rough patting on his back, a hearty shake, and a tight hug. He’s flanked on all sides by the men he’s come to call his closest friends since they began talking with each other on the regular. It’s different seeing them face-to-face and it’s so much better than an overseas conversation could ever amount to.

‘Phillips is going to flip his lid when he sees Steve,’ Gabe is saying as he rubs his hands together like he’s cooking up a plan that could potentially give the old man a heart attack. Steve can’t help a hoot of a laugh but tells them that he doesn’t wanna stir up trouble and get kicked off the base prematurely.

‘Hell, we’d be doing him a favour; Phillips is probably dying for some excitement at this point,’ Jacques is saying with a matching grin on his face, a faint accent coming through that Steve can pick up more clearly in real life than over the video call.

‘Not literally, of course,’ James pipes in, his eyes teasing.

‘Okay, okay,’ Steve tries to settle them before they start causing a ruckus he can’t handle but is glad to see that they’re just as much of a group of pranksters in person as they were on camera. ‘Why don’t we go somewhere for a bit first; catch up over some food or something before I inevitably get my ass handed to me and escorted back stateside under lock and key?’

The boys throw out rowdy cheers at the idea, barely remembering to take their paperwork with them as they head off, each of the men hurrying out of the building, dragging and pushing and tripping one another and Steve can’t help but laugh at the sight of all of them, can’t help but feel right at home and comfortable even under all this desert heat and sand. He almost doesn’t see Dum Dum throwing his leg out to catch his foot but he jumps over it in surprise, retaliates by stopping right in front of him so Dum Dum crashes right into his back with an “ _oof_ ”. Steve laughs again when the other man decides to jump on his back, trying his damn hardest to push him down to the ground, pulling him this way and that. The other guys catch on; Jim easily jumping up on Dum Dum’s back and piling on the weight that Steve’s legs are starting to shake from the strain, only collapsing when Gabe gives a hand to boost Jacques to reach the top.

‘Get off!’ He guffaws and is thankful his body can handle the weight of three other men pinning him down onto the dirt floor, their legs taking some of their own weight so he’s not crushed.

‘What kind of fresh hell is this?’ A familiar voice breaks their laughter and Steve looks up to see Phillips smirking down at him. He hadn’t even seen the man coming up to them, had been too distracted by the reunion with his team and the men he thinks of as his second family. The guys hurriedly get off him and line up by his side, grins still fixed on their faces and uniforms dirtied up from their roughhousing. ‘Good to see you in the flesh, Rogers.’

‘It’s good to see you, too, Sir,’ he smiles sheepishly as he straightens his posture to mimic the guys beside him and hopes they won’t get called out for getting their uniforms messed up and for losing their papers all over the ground, covered up in scuff marks and patches of dirt.

Phillips scratches a hand at his temple, pushing up his hat a little bit, feigning a disappointed sigh that has the rest of the guys snickering under their breath as the old man mutters loud enough that they all can hear him call them “hooligans”.  ‘Pick up those papers and call it a day because Lord knows none of you are gonna get any work done with this schmuck around,’ he says through a raised voice, sounding for all intents and purposes like he’s about to scold them but is looking too pleased to be taken seriously.

The boys let out simultaneous cheers of celebration, eagerly picking up their papers without caring who’s got what. Steve can’t help the crazy grin on his face as he turns back to Phillips and asks him, ‘Join us for a feed and a drink?’

The old man sighs again, pulling his hat off and running his hand through his hair to straighten it before slipping it back on properly. ‘Maybe later. I’ve got a meeting with Stark to get to.’

‘Good luck with that, Sir,’ he grins and throws out a salute that Phillips returns. He’s pleased beyond reason and is thankful to be here, to be given the opportunity to see more friends, to delve back into the environment and a place he’d practically called home for most of the last nine years, even if he doesn’t remember a single detail of it. All he knows it that it feels right to be here and he vows to make the most of the next three days he’s allowed on base before having to fly back to New York with Tony.

At least he’s got Bucky to go back to. He knows they’ve got a lot to talk about and he consoles himself that maybe they’ve got a chance to repair their friendship, however tentative it might be right now. It feels like they’re on the cusps of something new and he hopes it’ll do them both some good.

\--

He’s lived a majority of his life with nobody for a friend except for Bucky; the only one who stuck around through thick and thin. He can’t help but wonder how he’d managed to make so many connections in nine years when he’s only ever had Bucky until he was 21. He doesn’t know but _damn_ does it feel good to have things in common with other people.

Steve hadn’t really quite known what to expect when he saw his team again but he’s glad they’re not treating him any differently; talking to him like they would over a video call, acting like nothing’s changed and nothing’s different. A part of him is glad for this, that he’s not being babied.

The desert is the complete opposite of New York; spacious and barren and covered in sandy hills and very little means of shelter from the scorching heat. He likes it here, likes the sand under his shoes and the grit he feels in his hair whenever he runs his fingers through it. The sweat sticking his clothes to his skin makes him feel nostalgic in ways he can’t explain – he’s been here before; his body and mind have already come to accept this new environment as another familiar place.

His first day ends with him finding out that sand gets absolutely everywhere without remorse and isn’t just a simple exaggeration. He also ends up spending hours upon hours with the boys in a room that would be generously called an office but is more likely a refurbished cleaning closet. They’ve each had a couple of homemade alcohol in their bellies and little food to offset it but they’re happy and they’re loud and Steve can hardly remember how they got to the story of Peggy punching out a guy who called her the Queen of England but it’s a riot.

‘He dropped like a sack of bricks!’ James hoots while the rest of the guys stomp their boots in laughter.

‘I tell you what else; I ain’t never seen Steve with his mouth hanging open like that before,’ Dum Dum jeers and Steve can’t help but blush even though he can’t recall that ever happening. He does, however, remember his first reaction of seeing Peggy online and that was enough of a guideline to tell him that, if it weren’t for the fact that he still considers himself a committed man, he would’ve been gone on her.

They spend the rest of the night passing stories around, sharing anecdotes and starting conversations with the words: “remember when” and going on from there. Steve loses track of how much he’s had to drink; he doesn’t even know where they’re getting the alcohol from but he counts at least twenty bottles around them and on the ground.

He jumps when there’s a loud banging on the door, almost spilling whatever’s left in his bottle, which he gets teased about good-naturedly. Jacques reaches over to the door without getting up and pulls it open to reveal Phillips with a scowl on his face.

‘You better have left me a bottle or there’s going to be hell to pay!’ He threatens as Gabe, James and Dum Dum get up to make more room. It was already cramped with the six of them in this one small space but they make do, just about.

‘How’d the meeting go, boss?’ Dum Dum asks, opening up a bottle and handing it over.

‘Let the man have a drink before you start interrogating him with questions you don’t need to know the answers to,’ he grumbles half-heartedly as he takes off his hat, more out of wanting to keep up appearances than out of any real irritation.

They laugh and Steve finds out a little bit more about the kinds of things he got up to before he was made Captain of his own team and the amount of headaches he gave the old man as he recounted every tale as if it were only yesterday. Phillips is gruff in the way he talks, sounding as if he’s complaining about how much trouble Steve gave him when he was just starting out that Steve almost feels guilty over if not for the fondness in the old man’s eyes that give away the truth of his feelings.

He thinks this is probably what it feels like to have someone he might’ve considered a father or a role model and finds himself feeling more settled in his heart before the first night is even over. He likes it here, and he knows he’ll be sad when he leaves to go back to New York with Tony.

Before he gets into bed he asks himself, _what’s stopping me from staying a while longer?_ And lets the question lull him to sleep.

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've only been updating once every 8-10 days but things have been a bit hectic. I'll try and update somewhere like once a week instead of 1.5 weeks but no promises! I'll do my best, though~ 
> 
> =D


	12. Chapter 12

He wakes up in the morning with a mild hangover that he thinks could’ve been a lot worse if not for the fact that he’d had a drink of water before going to bed and had woken up once during the night to use the bathroom and to pour himself another cup. The sky is way too bright and he regrets not bringing a better pair of sunglasses out here as he slowly makes his way to the mess hall where he sees the rest of his team nursing cups of coffee and sluggishly eating their breakfast, looking like they’d rather be in bed than being up and about.

Having food in his belly helps improve his mood and as soon as he’s eaten his fill, seeing the brightness of the day outside doesn’t feel quite as bad as it could’ve been. He leaves the others, whom are all still in the grunting stage of waking up, to find one other person he hasn’t caught up with so far and he has to seriously ask himself where he thinks is a good place to start.

Steve hadn’t seen Phillips in the mess hall so either he’s already eaten his breakfast and is already at work or he’s taken his food to eat at his office. Both options seem likely but it doesn’t change the fact that he wouldn’t know where to begin looking. That is, until he spots James dragging a reluctant Tony who is trying to fix his hair despite the stagger in his steps that make it looks as if he’d been having a night of drinking, too. He’s got sunglasses on and a slight scowl on his lips.

‘Hey!’ He shouts to grab their attention, jogging up to meet them under the shade of a one-storey building. ‘Hey, I don’t suppose either of you have seen Phillips? Or even Peggy?’

‘What, no good morning?’ Tony scoffs but James cuts him off and directs him to a smaller building that looks more like a large tool shed just a few yards away.

‘They’re in there. I don’t think they’ve left yet so you should be good to catch up with them.’

‘Thanks. I’ll see you guys later,’ he waves as he hurries off, reaching the building just in time to see the door open and Peggy leave. ‘Hi!’ He greets louder than he means to. Somewhere behind him he can hear Tony laugh uproariously. He coughs, fighting down the little heat he can feel building in his cheeks that he can’t entirely blame on the sun and tries for a softer approach. ‘Hi, good morning.’

Peggy smiles at him, her expression pleased as she steps aside so that she’s not blocking the doorway. ‘Good morning, Steve. I’d heard on the grapevine you’d arrive with, dare I say, Tony Stark,’ she says with a quirk of an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder to where Tony last stood.

‘Yes. He uh...we uh...I was staying with him when James dropped by. The tower, I mean, and...here I am?’ He winces, flushing harder when he catches Phillips rolling his eyes from his periphery, probably thinking that Steve’s being a juvenile which, he supposes he technically kind of still is.

‘Eloquent as ever,’ she laughs under her breath as she gestures for him to start walking in the direction he came from. When Steve turns he’s glad to see that James and Tony are already gone and out of sight – two less people to see him burn in mortification. ‘So, is this place bringing back any particular memories?’

Steve hums and thinks about the question, finds that he doesn’t really have much in terms of visual memory but is more sensory than anything else. He’s not disappointed by much, has more than come to expect that he may not recall anything at all. He tries to keep Bruce’s advice to heart when it comes to these things and he finds that he’s become a lot freer with his life since then.

‘But it’s been good, you know? To see everyone and catch up with them again. I guess it’s easier when you’ve got no expectations to go from, right?’

‘I suppose,’ she nods slowly and speaks just as carefully as she looks over towards Phillips.

The old man sighs and pulls Steve to a stop just under the shade, ‘Look, kid. Far be it from me to tell you how to live your life; just make sure you know to look _forward_ and not just over your shoulder. Got it?’

He nods – he knows what they’re trying to say and he gets it, _he does_ , and he’s trying his damn best. Some days are just easier than the rest, especially when he’s got things to occupy himself with and not have to think about all the things he’s potentially lost. Nine years is a lot to have suddenly disappeared on him but he’s learning to deal with that loss as best as he can by taking the things that belonged to the 30-year old Steve and trying to make it his own.

‘Yes, Sir,’ he says and they begin walking again, catching up with Peggy standing just a couple of feet away.

She smiles encouragingly as she opens the door into the building while Phillips walks on past them. Steve debates catching up with Phillips later in favour of chatting with Peggy but he really needs to talk to him first. ‘Where can I find you later?’ He asks her and tries to keep an eye on the direction the other man is going before he loses him.

‘We’ll meet up for lunch later. 1200 hours sharp, soldier. Don’t be late.’

He grins and waves to her, about to hurry off to run after Phillips again when she calls out to him just as he’s got one foot in front of him.

‘Hindsight is 20/20, but there’s a difference between reminiscing and dwelling. Don't get stuck on the latter,’ she tells him, and he tucks that parting wisdom close to his chest as she disappears into the building after another wave and the door swings shut behind her.

Steve turns around just in time to see Phillips duck into a different building and he curses inwardly and has to run after the old man, wondering to himself why all the buildings are so spaced apart when they could’ve been conveniently placed right next to each other. He doesn’t think about it for too long, it’s really not up to him to comment on the logistics and architectural design of the compound as he catches up with Phillips and finally asks what’s been hanging around his head since before he went to bed last night.

After that it’s just a small matter of waiting around to see what the response is going to be and he figures that he probably has time to spare, at least enough to have a wander around to see if anything can help jog his memory. After walking under the desert heat for a little under half an hour he decides he’s done with looking over the horizon if any particular sand hills would jar any memories loose. In the end, he’s just soaked in his shirt and thirsty as a dog.

It’s a little after 9 in the morning so the mess hall is relatively empty of people. He chugs down two glasses of water and leaves to hunt down the rest of the commandos, knowing that they’ll probably be sitting around in that tiny office space filling out paperwork from their last mission. He wonders who their captain is now or if they’re just doing small jobs until somebody gets appointed to them. Steve feels a small wave of possession overcome him but he forces it down easily; there’s no point trying to keep what isn’t his – he’s not qualified to lead and all the experience he’d gained over the years working for the military is essentially gone. He’s probably “retired” but he doesn’t know if it’s official or if the higher ups are holding their collective breaths waiting for him to come back. There’s a good part of him that wants to leave that lifestyle behind for a different future, one that involves actually using his degree for something other than to collect dust with.

When he opens the door into the office he’s surprised to see Tony instead, drinking from a coffee pot instead of a cup like a normal person and wearing sunglasses despite the fact that he’s sitting by his lonesome in a dimly lit room.

‘Hey, I didn’t think I’d find you here,’ he says as he slides into the small space made smaller by his presence and sits down on one of the two other unoccupied chairs in the room.

‘Your boys got called off to do a quick supply run this morning so I decided to commandeer this room. Got a problem?’

He ignores the rough tone with a roll of his eyes. He doesn’t know why Tony likes to keep picking fights with him but he guesses it’s just one of the things that make him... _him_. He thinks there’s also a good chance that Tony hasn’t quite gotten over the fact that he’s not the same Steve that he saw from however many years ago. He knows from experience that some habits are just hard to break. ‘No. I was going to look for you later but now that you’re here I might as well let you know that I’m thinking of staying another week or two.’

Tony stops in the middle of taking a drink, almost choking on the small sip of coffee he’s got in his mouth as he turns to look at Steve over the top of his sunglasses. ‘Uhhh.’

‘Are you still waking up or something? Would you like me to speak slower?’ He smirks, carefully enunciating his words.

At this, the dark-haired man sits up from his chair and straightens himself out as he takes off his glasses and narrows his eyes at him.

‘Uno momento, compadre. You can’t just say that you wanna stay here a bit longer because 1) I can’t actually give you that kind of permission, 2) for all that I bluster like I own the place I actually _don’t_ , 3) I don’t know when I’m gonna be back here to pick you up, and D) you’re here on a visitor’s visa, just FYI.’

Steve wants to point out that Tony threw in a letter instead of a number in all of his bullet-points but knowing Tony he probably did it on purpose because he thinks it’s funny. ‘I’m aware. I’ve already talked to Phillips about it and he says he’ll get back to me as soon as he gets a definitive answer about me possibly staying here for another week or so. I can probably make my own way back but I just wanted to thank you for letting me come here in the first place.’

Tony groans, throwing his hands up into the air and looking like he’s being inconvenienced by Steve. He supposes this is probably one of the reasons why the 30-year old Steve and Tony didn’t always get along because while he can see that Tony doesn’t actually mean it, he can guess how some people can take his attitude the wrong way.

‘You’re such a boy scout,’ he complains but there’s a tiny smile on the corner of his lips that Steve can see is shaking a little bit like he’s trying to suppress it. ‘Alright. I’m not due to leave until 3pm so if I don’t see you there then I’m going to assume you’re good to stay.’

‘And if I’m just late?’

‘Then too bad! I’m not a taxi service,’ he smirks but it softens when he offers a hand that Steve bypasses for a hug instead. He can feel Tony going tense for a couple of seconds before he relaxes and awkwardly pats him on the back. It’s a little bit awkward since they’re both still sitting down but they make it work. ‘But seriously, though,’ the dark-haired man starts to say as he pulls back, ‘I don’t mind coming back to give you a lift if you decide you’d rather go back home.’

Steve smiles, both at the offer and the fact that Tony used the word “home”. He knows that the 30-year old Steve hasn’t called New York his home in a long time, especially if he’s practically lived on base for the last how many years and he doesn’t know why that version of him had gone without for so long but he feels it in his core; he’ll always think of New York as home, he’ll always want to go back to Brooklyn.

‘Thanks, Tony.’

‘But if you change your mind the next day then you’re shit out of luck because there’s no way I’m flying back here after less than 24 hours.’

Steve laughs and is thankful to have found a friend in Tony, even if he is a snarky and sarcastic pain sometimes.

\--

In the midst of all the hullaballoo he almost forgets to think about Bucky and about his promise to him that he’d be back in a few days to really talk things out between the two of them. He twirls Tony’s borrowed cellphone in his hand and goes through a couple dozen ways to start the conversation with Bucky and drops each and every one of them as stupid – he’s never liked it when people didn’t get straight to the point and he remembers Bucky never appreciated it much either when they were younger.

Steve blows out a breath through his mouth and wishes he weren’t so nervous. He’s not technically breaking a promise but there’s another part of him that completely disagrees with that.

He wants to go back but he’s already here so he might as well make the most of it with the rest of the guys here on the base. He still hasn’t totally caught up with everybody yet and he doesn’t want to leave before he’s completely ready. A few days isn’t enough, not really, and he hopes Bucky can understand that it might be a while longer until he’s back on American soil.

With another deep breath, he steels himself and dials the area code for New York followed by Bucky’s number and waits. It takes five rings before his call gets picked up.

‘Hello, James Barnes speaking.’

A little mischievous grin works its way across his face as he pitches his voice a little deeper than he normally would, ‘Mr. Barnes? I’m calling in regards to a conversation that we had a couple of days prior. Do you have time at this moment to continue where we left off?’

There’s a brief pause, maybe confused, and a bit of static before his voice comes back haltingly, ‘Yes? Who am I speaking to?’

‘Now, I’d like to remind you that what you say may be recorded and used for training purposes. If you’d like to opt out we will fully respect your request.’

There’s another pause, much longer than the last one before Bucky’s voice comes back quick and stern, ‘I swear to God, Steve, I can’t believe you’re pulling that trick on me again. It’s been almost ten fucking years. You almost gave me a heart-attack, what the shi—’

‘Language,’ he says between his laughter and finds it a little easier to talk to the brunet then, finds that he doesn’t need to rely on the dozen ways he tried to think up previously. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.’

He can hear Bucky muttering under his breath but it’s light-hearted and most joking. ‘I can tell from the number that you’re still on the base. So which is it? You calling to say you’re coming back home or staying behind?’

‘Staying behind a little bit longer,’ he answers truthfully because the both of them deserve honesty.

‘Thought so. Having fun, then?’ He asks, keeping his voice casual.

Steve tries to listen for any underlying hint of conflict in Bucky’s voice, if what he’s saying will betray any of what he really feels, if he doesn’t think Steve staying behind is a good idea and that he’d rather have him on the next plane back to the states and back home. But Steve wants to trust Bucky, just as he wants Bucky to trust him, so he takes it all in stride and tells him what he’s been up to since he arrived here.

‘It’s really hot over here. I think I’m getting a tan and it’s looking really uneven.’

Bucky barks out a laugh and tells him not to come back looking like Ross Geller did after that tanning incident in Friends. ‘I will laugh my ass off, don’t think I won’t.’

Steve laughs at the imagery and hopes it doesn’t come to that by the time he gets back stateside.

\--

Peggy makes him nervous for a hundred different reasons but the first few are these; she is beautiful in her confidence and kind-hearted to boot, firm in her commands but not one to step on people or allow herself to be stepped on. It’s something that Steve admires her for, having grown up feeling ugly and small and stupid for fights to prove that he is more than what his looks imply. Most people don’t look at him twice, least of all girls, so he’s breathless and he can’t stop the _thump-thump-thump_ of his heart when Peggy doesn’t mind spending time alone with him. He’s shaken to the core.

They talk, clumsily on his part at first but easing as they move smoothly from subject to subject without pause, relearning about each other and filling in the gaps of what they’ve both been doing. For Peggy, she talks about why she chose the military route despite the naysayers of her family but never once regretting her choices that led her to become the woman she is today. For Steve, he talks about art, how he was inspired by the subject and encouraged to pursue it from his ma and Bucky despite many people saying that it’s more of a filler subject than it is a real course for study. He thinks it’s great that they have this in common; that they’ll continue to aim for what’s true in their hearts than what others think is the best way to live.

He and Peggy are like trees planted beside the river of truth, firm in their beliefs that they should not be the ones to move but the rest of the world.

Before long, her lunch hour is up and she has to go back to doing whatever it is that COs do when it’s not their break time. She tells him that they can meet up again for dinner, and perhaps spend the night drinking with the rest of the boys if they’re keen for it.

Steve laughs, ‘I don’t know if they’ll want to join, judging by how they looked this morning.’

‘I saw. Goodness gracious those boys have turned into such lightweights,’ she says as she shakes her head in mock-disappointment. ‘I’ll see you later, Steve.’

‘Go save the day.’

‘Of course; when have I ever done anything less,’ she smirks over her shoulder as she deposits her tray back to the kitchens before disappearing out of the mess hall.

He glances down at his own tray, stupid smile on his face, and it’s not until he looks ups and surreptitiously around that he notices five familiar pairs of eyes batting their eyelashes at him with their fingers waggling under their chins trying to pretend at damsels, looking so ridiculous for trying that he can’t stop the unflattering snort at the sight of his friends. He gestures for them to get out of his sight, picking up his tray to drop it back to the kitchen and thinking about maybe trying to find Tony again before he flies off back to New York. With his back turned to them he doesn’t see them coming up behind him until he feels someone barrel right into him, jostling his body around like children play-fighting in the school yard.

Steve laughs and it feels good. He drops the tray onto a nearby counter with a clang and gives back as good as he can, hoping they won’t get into trouble for this but not caring much for the consequences even if they do. He thinks they’ll probably end up being ordered to clean the toilets with a toothbrush or run laps under the heat carrying packs that weigh almost as much as them but hell, it doesn’t sound so bad if he gets to do it together with them. Solidarity and all that.

In the end, Phillips is the one called to deal with them but all he really gives them is this look of disappointment that’s pretty much dashed to the ground by the little laugh lines around his eyes, not even really trying to look stern and disapproving of their antics. This is probably why Steve likes the old man so much, because he can take a joke and doesn’t act like he’s got a stick up his ass all day and every day.

‘Get back to work. Scat!’ He shoos them off and they all dispersed in different directions. He knows he’ll find the other guys later on but for now he has another friend to find.

\--

He watches Tony lean dangerously out of the helicopter with a manic look in his eyes and Steve would’ve been a lot more worried about it if not for the fact that he knows Tony is strapped in properly and James has an arm on his shoulder pulling him insistently. He smiles as he waves, watching the aircraft go higher into the sky and further out into the distance. Before long, it’s just a tiny little speck but Steve keeps on looking until it’s long gone.

Steve’s joined by Peggy who tells him she’s happy they’re getting along so well and he thinks, _yeah_ , starting anew from a blank slate isn’t always a bad thing, and turning over a new leaf doesn’t always mean starting out again with nothing.

He feels richer for all of his experiences and he thinks maybe the accident that threw him into a hospital bed can be a blessing in disguise, too. He still doesn’t know what landed him there but he doesn’t care either way whether he eventually finds out or not.

\--

The base is run almost entirely by routine; everything is completed during specific times and everything is done through teams. They sleep together, they work together, they eat together, and they exercise together. There’s familiarity in completing tasks according to a schedule; everything is planned for.

Steve finds that he doesn’t mind that everything is regimented. He thinks that Phillips took it easy on them when he thought that Steve was only staying for a couple of days but as soon as he voiced that he was going to be around a little while longer that was when the kid-gloves got taken off. He doesn’t mind it and is weirdly comforted by the orders and the drills, somehow doesn’t notice the time flying under his booted feet.

His duffle bag only had been packed enough for a two-day stay so they lent him a change of clothes, army regulation wear, and it was enough to make him blend right in with the boys without other people giving him any second glances. It barely even matters that his hair isn’t even shorn to the proper length either although he’s had to shave off the beard to fit in a little bit more. He could’ve trimmed it down like James, Jacques or Tim do for theirs but he feels stupid with only a moustache so he got rid of the whole thing.

It’s after dinner, free time, and they’re sitting around on their bunks sharing a bottle of whiskey that Tony left behind for them as a gift. Steve eventually learns that Jim has a wife and a 5-year old daughter back home that he’s eager to see again, that he’s thinking of retiring once this tour is over. Jacques has a wife, too, and they’re expecting a baby to add to their family. The Frenchman has planned to take leave one month before she’s due to give birth and as much as he wants to continue on fighting the good fight he doesn’t want to miss out on watching his baby grow up.

They all nod and murmur sounds of agreement and Steve thinks about Liliana and how much he likes being called “Uncle”.

Dum Dum’s the oldest out of all of them, already has a kid in college and a teenager giving his wife grief because his son’s got himself a boyfriend that’s more interested in creating street art and flunking out of school than thinking about their future.

‘Hell, I get it. I mean, I’ve been there but I graduated high school with nothing and I don’t want none of my kids to go through the same,’ he finishes, shamefaced even though he has nothing to be ashamed about for trying to be a good husband and a good father and a good provider, despite the miles separating himself from his family.

Jim tells them how he missed his kid’s second and third birthday and how, by the time he was able to go back, she barely remembered him. ‘There’s nothing worse than seeing your daughter looking at you like you’re a total stranger.’

Steve guiltily thinks back on how he woke up on a hospital bed and freaked out when he saw Bucky again, barely understanding that the long-haired brunet coming towards him wasn’t a stranger looking to attack him but his boyfriend instead. Or so he thought.

‘We always try to make it up to them, though. As parents or as lovers or whatever,’ Jim adds, trying to lighten up the mood. ‘I’m gonna miss working with you guys but I’m ready for the quiet life.’

‘Hear, hear,’ James says as he knocks his glass of water to Jim’s and Dum Dum’s. ‘I might ask for a transfer, see if I can get myself stationed somewhere that’s less desert sand and more of a place with a nice ocean view.’

Dum Dum snorts, ‘You might as well retire to the tropics with a hammock and a coconut.’

‘I absolutely would not mind that,’ he grins and throws back his drink like it’s made of harder stuff, even though he said earlier he’d rather go without another whopper of a hangover. ‘Maybe I’ll just travel the world instead.’

Gabe mentions his long-term girlfriend back home that he wants to propose to, how he’s ready to take the next step, and his blush makes the boys congratulate and shove him around with hearty pats and full-bodied hugs. Nothing’s even remotely planned yet but Gabe wants them to all be his groomsmen if they’re willing to fly over to Louisiana for the wedding.

‘Which one of us is the best man?’ Jacques asks, giving him a wide-eyed look as if daring him to say any other name but his.

‘Well...’ he trails off, not quite willing to answer but his eyes dart in the general vicinity of where Steve is sitting and everybody turns to stare at him.

He starts to sweat a little under their looks, his throat stuck because he doesn’t feel like it’s fair of him to say yes because he’s not the Steve they remember and he’s not the Steve they’ve worked with for the entirety of their military career. He’s a 21-year old guy; what does he know about weddings and being the best man?

‘It’s not about what you do or don’t remember,’ Gabe starts to tell him after he voiced his concerns, ‘You might be missing a few things up here but you’re still the same Steve I know – you know when to ease off and have fun, you know when to take things seriously, you give things the consideration they deserve before you make any opinions and yeah, okay, so the subject was over the merits of mashed potatoes with cream or mashed potatoes with milk but it’s the same principle.’

‘Cream,’ Dum Dum whispers loudly, snickering alongside James who nods in agreement.

Gabe talks over them, ‘Gist is, you might feel like you’re not the same guy but to me, _to us_ , you still are.’

‘You can take that as a compliment if you like,’ Jacques tells him with a grin, sharing an elbow nudge with Jim while Gabe waves his hands around trying to get everybody to settle back down.

‘Anyway, totally jumping the gun; she hasn’t even said yes, yet.’

‘Melissa’s gonna say yes,’ they more or less say together, cheering him on and bringing up the morale while Steve watches and smiles, trying to picture a face with the name. He doesn’t come up with much but he’s happy to see their happiness and enthusiasm bleed into each other, that they’re planning for a life outside of this base they’ve called home for so long, that they’re looking forward to a future beyond what they’ve done for the military and for their country.

Steve looks forward to seeing them again in the near future in a more casual setting, maybe with bottles of beer in the cooler box while one or two of them mans the grill, talking about things that don’t involve the army and maybe on a herb garden one of them is trying to start.

There’s a quiet scuffle outside, the sound of laughter, negligible by most counts if not for the loud and sudden “ _Grenade_ ” that has Steve’s heart in his throat while the rest of the guys duck for cover under their bunks. He’s yanked down to the ground, smacking his chin in the process, before he can really think about it and an earth-shattering boom makes the wall furthest from them burst inward, the blast knocking down ten double bunk beds and misaligning eight more.

The bottle of whiskey lies on its side, spilling across the floor near Jim’s head and the sight jars him.

He can’t breathe.

\--

 


	13. Chapter 13

When the dust finally settles, they eventually find out that it was just a couple of guys who thought they could have some fun with a dummy grenade that they saw Colonel Phillips use as a demonstration earlier that morning, thought it would be hilarious to see guys running away with their proverbial pants down, thought they could have a laugh with a dud.

The five people that were closest to the grenade blast were admitted to the medic tent for hearing damage, building shrapnel, a cracked bone from colliding into a bunk bed or a combination of those three. Steve has a bruised chin and a shaken core.

The two guys playing at soldiers were sent back to the states for disciplinary training and their privileges stripped as punishment.

Steve doesn’t think they’re fit to serve and he tells Phillips this, angry in a way he hasn’t been in a long time, not since Rumlow—

‘Not your call to make,’ Phillips tells him as he throws down the phone back into its cradle, fuming as well although he does a better job at controlling it while Steve is rundown with too many thoughts crowding inside his head. He can’t think properly, can’t sort out what’s now and what’s not.

He’s got his memories back and he’s simultaneously relieved and distressed by it, feels like he lost of piece of himself to the stupidity of others. They weren’t kidding when they said that ignorance is bliss. There’s a part of him that wants to go back to being 21, back to where things were simpler.

Phillips stares at him, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, lingering at the mottled skin on his chin and gives a full-bodied sigh. ‘I’ve called Stark; he’ll be here within two days.’

Steve frowns and wants to protest against leaving for a multitude of reasons that begin with wanting to help put everything back to rights and end with him being not quite as ready as he thought he’d be at the possibility of seeing Bucky again. His head is a whirr of activity and he can see the brunet growing into the man he’s become today behind his closed eyelids, a smooth transition instead of a sudden one he’d woken up to in the hospital.

‘Yes, Sir,’ he eventually says as he tightens the grip he’s got on his hands behind his back, his posture precise and ramrod straight.

The old man grunts as he pushes himself out of his chair and stands in front of him. His hair’s a mess from wearing a hat practically all day and made messier from running his fingers through it while making calls and trying to deal with the idiocy of two kids trying to be men. He looks older than Steve remembers and he wonders what happened in the year since he’d been hospitalized. Stress isn’t a good look on him, on anyone, really, and he wonders if the old man would consider retirement in the near future; go back to a quiet life with his wife and kids and grandkids.

Phillip sighs again and pulls him in for an unexpected hug, holding on tight around his shoulders and telling him gently, ‘You deserve to go home and have a break. God knows you haven’t given yourself one since you signed your life over to the army.’

He swallows as he bunches the fabric of the old man’s jacket in his hands, ‘I don’t regret it.’

‘I know you don’t. You’ve done a lot of good, kid. Not just for the country but for the world,’ he says as he pulls back and looks at him in the eye, ‘You just need to leave some good for yourself, too.’

Steve nods, clamping his mouth shut at the excuses and fear crowding in his heart and mind. His thoughts immediately go to Bucky, to Natasha and Liliana, to the friends he’d made over the years and doesn’t see himself going without for more to come. He nods again, and hopes he’s paid his dues as he turns to leave but stops just before his fingers curl around the doorknob.

‘What happened to the STRIKE team, Sir?’

‘Disbanded,’ Phillips waves his hand absently as if it’s old news as he sits back down behind his desk, looking a little tired around the edges.

He snorts and mutters under his breath, ‘Good riddance.’

‘Amen to that. Now get out of my office and let me do some damage control. Sheesh.’

\--

His team, when he next sees them, is in a sombre mood. He knows it wasn’t just him that experience threw for a loop – Jim looks pale, Jacques’ hand is trembling as he holds onto a dying cigarette, Gabe is polishing his boots to within an inch of its life, James is lost somewhere in his own head and Dum Dum looks like he wants to bore a hole in the ground and dig himself back home with the gun he’s taking apart and putting back together. He takes the last seat they left empty for him and feels all of his words clog up in his throat; he doesn’t know what to say. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to go back home knowing that the rest of his team are still here in this hot desert country that’s just a few degrees shy of being hell.

‘I’ve given enough. I think I’m allowed to wanna go home.’

Gabe stops rubbing the darkened towel over his boots to stare at Jim who’s not looking at anybody but is looking at the small photograph of his wife and daughter that he’d pulled out from his breast pocket. ‘Yeah. I forget that I’m not even 30 yet but I feel old.’

‘It’s not old you’re feeling,’ Dum Dum says as he slips the magazine into the pistol, stares at it and takes it all apart again. ‘It’s dead.’

Nobody says anything to correct him.

They sit around in silence, each occupied by their own personal demons in their heads, lost in the mire of their own thoughts, before Steve pulls himself up and asks as light-hearted as he can, ‘So, when’s the wedding gonna be?’

Gabe grins and puts down the shoe onto the floor next to the opened tin of polishing wax, glad to be thinking of happier times ahead and tells them that maybe they’ll settle for a Spring wedding, or even an Autumn one; pale pastel colours or rich earthy colours. ‘Because Melissa will look gorgeous in a dress that’s all reds, oranges and yellows, _damn_. We don’t even need to stick to white because _boring_.’

Steve can just about imagine Melissa in an autumn dress, her long hair done up in thick braids, topped off with a flower crown laced with orange orchids and from what he’s got in mind, she’ll definitely take all of their collective breaths away. The boys laugh and start pitching in ideas for party favours like potpourri or custom-made candies with their names on it. James brings up the merits of handmade wedding invitations that his sister did for her own special day.

‘Gorgeous, I’ll tell you that, but a right pain in the arse, especially if you’ve got over 150 guests in mind and you’re spending half an hour on _each_ card.’

Jim winces and regales the story of marrying into an Asian family that included tea ceremonies and traditional outfits even though he’s pretty much a fourth generation American-Asian. ‘But if it’s what the missus wants then the missus gets.’

Dum Dum chortles as he pats Jim roughly on his back, ‘A happy wife leads to a happy life.’

They spend the rest of their day drowning out their negative thoughts for positive ones, shoving out the trauma filled with blood and bombs and bullets for wedding arches, cupcakes and desserts, à la carte and buffet receptions.

‘Buffet sounds great because if the menu tells me to pick between steak or salmon then there’s a good chance I’m just gonna tick both,’ Dum Dum warns, a twinkle in his eye at the thought of food.

‘You’re a pig,’ Steve teases which Dum Dum only retorts by squealing like a pig and making faces to go with it. The night devolves into a game of charades because, why stop the fun there?

\--

Tony comes back to pick him up less than 36 hours later, grim faced but never once saying anything about how he shouldn’t have left Steve behind on his own like he isn’t capable of taking care of himself. Steve is thankful for that as he returns the hug Tony gives him, hoping to convey without words how grateful he is. Physically, he’s alright but it’ll be a while until he catches up emotionally.

The plane ride back is tense and filled with meaningless chatter. He does his best to keep track of how much alcohol Tony is imbibing and he loses count of how many glasses he’s had but he can see that the bottle is two-thirds empty where it’d been a quarter gone before they boarded. Throughout it all, Tony keeps talking, jumping from one topic to another and not really saying whatever it is he means to say. Steve wonders how much of it is guilt and how much of it is because Tony is worried that he lost a friend in Steve, the one he got to know over the last few weeks.

‘It was my choice to stay behind,’ Steve cuts in just as the dark-haired man is going on about making his tower shift onto renewable and sustainable energy. It sounds like a great idea but at the same time he’s rambling from the main issue.

Tony shrugs, swirling the amber liquid in his tumbler as he says offhandedly, ‘I know. Anyway, Pepper think it’s a great idea, too. We’re gonna hire some contractors to get the job done but it would be so much easier if I could just do it myself, you know? All I need is like, a flying suit, or something.’

Steve would leave it at that and let Tony just keep on talking, let nature run its course, but he can see the tremble in Tony’s hands that his constant moving around can’t hide, the jitter of his leg and the way he just absolutely cannot sit still. Steve remembers enough about Tony to recall the few months he’d been kidnapped and held for ransom in the desert, can remember almost the exact same look in his eyes that occasionally speak between debilitating fear and righteous fury. Right now, it’s the former and he thinks the both of them could really do with some therapy. He’s fully ready to admit that now.

‘You didn’t leave me there to die.’

Finally, Tony stills and looks at him, letting his bloodshot eyes and the deep bruising beneath them be seen clearly.

‘You know what kept going through my head?’ Tony asks as he points at himself with the hand that’s holding onto the tumbler, ‘That I left a friend behind in an active fucking warzone.’

‘I’m a soldier—’

‘No, you weren’t. Not at the time,’ he spits out, enraged not at Steve but at himself. ‘You were just a kid. What did you say? 21?’ He snorts derisively, ‘Yeah, you might’ve had a body of a beefed-up lumberjack but in your head you’d just graduated.’

Steve can’t fault his logic there. He shrugs and lets Tony go back to drinking. He finishes his glass and doesn’t bother to refill it which, if he remembers correctly, means that Tony is open for conversation. He just hopes it’s not the confrontational one.

‘I’m still that Steve; I’m still your friend, and I won’t let you push me away just because you’re scared.’

‘Fuck you.’

He doesn’t take it to heart because he can see how much Tony doesn’t mean it, slumped down in his seat like he can barely hold himself up anymore. Maybe if he hadn’t known how Tony was before then he would’ve taken offence to it because he would’ve tried to find any excuse not to get along with a rich guy who grew up with everything handed to him on a silver platter, or so he thought. Tony likes to talk and he likes to act big, like he’s all that, like people should be so lucky to be breathing the same air as him, but he can see that beneath all of that, Tony’s just a guy who’s trying to be everything his father isn’t, is trying to make a name for himself that isn’t under his dad’s all-encompassing shadow – he’s self-destructive, and he’d do anything he can to make sure none of his friends get caught in his blast radius.

Steve discards the first few thoughts running through his head until he lands on something he normally wouldn’t have thought to say. ‘I doubt Pepper would be open to a threesome.’

‘Shows how much you know,’ he retorts automatically, and it takes him a few seconds for his brain to really catch up to what was just said. He narrows his eyes at Steve before he tells him, ‘I don’t share.’

He smiles, lets it sit on his face for a couple of beats before telling Tony that he was scared, too. His chin still hurts and so does his head, a low kind of throbbing that can be easily ignored if he chooses to distract himself with something else but he keeps that fear close, lets it remind him that, above all else, he is still human; he still bleeds.

‘I don’t think I’m gonna go back,’ he tells Tony honestly, wringing his hands together before choosing to pick at his nails, staring at his knuckles as he tries to gather his thoughts. ‘I remember when it all started and I remember what I had to give up to be who I am today. The only reason why I stayed in the military for as long as I did was because I didn’t have anything else to go back to.’

‘And now you do.’

His thoughts drift off to Bucky and he slowly nods. ‘Yeah. I wasn’t just scared of...fighting, or being at war, or the possibility of dying...’

‘You were scared of trying to start a life again.’

Steve lets out a long breath, relieved as he looks up ruefully at Tony. Of course, he’d understand; he’s been there.

‘Pepper is worth it,’ Tony says as he exchanges his empty tumbler for a cool bottle of water from the mini bar, ‘and I’m sure you’ll find something for yourself, too, if you haven’t already.’

‘Thanks,’ he smiles as he slouches down on his seat until his lower back is almost parallel with his thighs and knees. ‘So, whose idea was it to track my phone? I knew it was too much of a coincidence that I never found myself as a homeless bum.’

‘Your bum’s too pretty to be homeless,’ he says as he cracks the bottle open and starts chugging it down.

‘Yeah-huh.’

Tony holds out until almost half of the bottle has been consumed, trying not to sound guilty as he says, ‘I gave the phone to Bucky to give to you, because I figured you probably needed an upgrade anyway.’

‘Thanks, I appreciate that, but how do you know Bucky?’ As far as he knows, they’ve never met before and he sure as hell never mentioned Bucky to Tony even offhandedly.

‘Bruce told me.’

‘ _Bruce_ told you?’ He asks with raised eyebrows, incredulous because he knows that’s a line the doctor would never cross when it comes to doctor-patient confidentiality.

Tony rolls his eyes at him. ‘Okay, no, he didn’t. It was that time when he brought up the whole next-of-kin thing but you almost tackled him from your bed the second he said his name. You said you were gonna do it yourself and he trusted you to. I didn’t.’

Steve scoffs and lets him carry on with the story.

‘In exchange for not letting you know that it was me who tattled, I told him your hearing was fucked.’

‘I thought it was Peggy or Phillips who called Bucky, never thought it’d be you.’

‘Look,’ he sighs, ‘I barely know the guy; we only talked a handful of times, only saw him once at the hospital, but I’m not so heartless that I didn’t see how much he cared about you.’

‘Yeah, okay.’

‘I didn’t bother looking you up until JARVIS let me know that you were spending the night outside of the apartment. I only started tracking you after Bucky called me for help.’

‘Oh.’ He supposes that makes sense. Bucky must’ve been hoping that he’d go back to the apartment but eventually figured out, come morning time, that Steve wasn’t going to change his mind anytime soon. ‘So you coordinated with everybody, then?’

He shrugs, ‘Kind of, not really. I mean, I’m not gonna take all the credit – all I did was give your initial location and asked who was the closest and waited for somebody to go fetch. Sam picked up the ball and only let us know what was going on once you left his place.’

‘Okay.’

‘Are you angry?’

‘No, I—’ He stops to really think about it until he figures what he’s feeling isn’t anger but a slow, rising emotion of goodness, the steady realization that he has friends who care for him deeply, who worried for him even though he couldn’t put a name to their faces, couldn’t put a memory to their presence. Bucky tried to help in his own way. It didn’t work but he continued to try even after Steve wasn’t around to stay in that apartment. He huffs out a little laugh at how good his life is and he hadn’t even known until right this moment. ‘I’m not angry.’

‘Cool.’ He finishes off the rest of the bottle, making a noise of content and smacking his lips once he’s done. ‘I’ll let you decide when to drop the bomb about your memories coming back.’

Steve gives Tony an unimpressed stare, one eyebrow raised and wonders how much of that is on purpose and how much of it is just Tony being Tony; he’s done it so often that it’s become close to second-nature to him.

He grimaces as he tentatively screws the top back on before leaving it next to his empty tumbler, ‘Whoops. Too soon?’

Steve shakes his head, hiding his face behind his hand so Tony doesn’t see the smile on his lips. It wouldn’t do to encourage the other man from making ill-timed jokes.

A couple of hours into their flight home sees Tony asleep in his seat, reclined as far back as he can make it and snoring into the crook of his elbow. Steve lays a blanket over him and sits back down, staring at the pitch black darkness outside the window with wisps of grey-blue clouds passing by only once in a while.

He remembers.

\--

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whee! I just realized this is the longest story I've ever written in the entirety of this account. Woohoo!!
> 
> (Although, does quantity really beat quality?)
> 
> ...
> 
> >____>lll

Pepper gives him a long, strong hug when he steps back onto the apartment floor of the tower. When she deigns to let go he can see her eyes are shiny and on the verge of tears although her lips are quirked up in a smile and she looks utterly relieved to see him here, alive and well. She tells him, “ _welcome home”_ as she touches his healing chin and he can’t stop the swell in his heart at the words, the warmth growing in his chest as he holds onto her hand and smiles back at her with nothing but thanks.

She can’t stay long; she’s got a meeting she needs to prepare for which Tony ought to be in attendance for as well even though he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but in a boring meeting, rolling his eyes at the ceiling and keeping himself busy with flipping through takeout menus even though they’d just eaten a while ago.

‘It was airplane food; they don’t count,’ the dark-haired man insists but Steve has no idea what he’s going on about; the food was _great_ , pretty much a 5-star meal.

‘Tony, give Steve a breather – he’s just spent the last how many hours stuck in a small space with you,’ she says as she begins tugging him towards the lifts. He protests but he doesn’t fight against her leading him out.

‘My presence is a _joy_ and he knows it.’

Steve snorts and Tony turns back to narrow his eyes at him until he disappears around the corner.

‘I’m a _joy_ to the world!’ He shouts, his voice echoing a little bit around the apartment before he starts on a rendition of the Christmas song to fit himself. Steve can only shake his head and wish Pepper luck in dealing with the meeting as well as her partner.

He drops his duffle bag onto the floor next to the couch, dropping himself onto it with a sigh that speaks of more than simple exhaustion. Everything’s a mess in his head but he takes comfort in the fact that the sunrise hasn’t changed despite his world turning on its head. It feels as if every thought he’s ever had is clamouring for dominance, fighting to take the stage, shouting _me, me, look at me_ into his ears. He can hear his ma’s favourite slow number clashing with the entire album of Linkin Park in his head and he loves and hates it at the same time. It’s like his childhood years are colliding with his teenage years and it feels like he’s going through puberty again and _it sucks_.

Pepper was right; he needs a breather but not from Tony – from himself, his own mind, the nine years of his life suddenly crashing back into him like a tidal wave he can only hope he’s strong enough to moor against. Images are superimposing themselves on top of one another – the thought of Clint, young and whole, at odds with an older Clint, battered but still alive and with a dog by his side. He can see a young Liliana in his hands, no older than six months old, and a different Liliana at four and a half years, stepping on his shoes while he tries to teach her a little dance that his ma taught him before.

It’s full circle and his head aches with the velocity in which his mind is travelling in, gaining speed with each completed rotation.

He lies down on the couch, lets the rising sun warm him as he closes his eyes and thinks about Bucky, back when they were both 21, living in that little apartment together and thinking about marrying each other. He chuckles a little at the thought; things really were a lot simpler back then.

\--

He gets brought out of his creative zone at the sound of their door opening with a whine and slamming shut two seconds later, making the small table next to it shake at his wake. Steve quickly saves his work and leaves the tablet pen on top of his laptop as he goes out to see what Bucky’s grumbling about after spending an afternoon out with his sister. He guesses that’s probably reason enough for the grumbling; it’s always about a fifty-fifty chance he’s either happy or aggravated beyond belief at his family.

At his questioning glance, Bucky huffs and starts putting away the little bits of groceries he’d just bought, most noticeably the pint of ice cream, into the small ice box. ‘Rebecca’s getting married. Can you believe that shit? She’s only 18! What the fuck?’

‘I thought you liked Richard.’

‘I liked him better when he hadn’t proposed to my sister _at 18_! They’re fresh outta high school!’

‘My ma and pa married fresh out of high school,’ Steve tells him as he sits at their kitchen stool by the island that doubles as the dining table. ‘And if I remember correctly, so did your mum and dad, too.’

‘Totally different generation,’ he mutters under his breath as he closes the freezer door and leans his back onto it, crossing his arms and glowering at the stained tiles at his feet.

Steve lets him glower a little bit, lets him go through the motions, his face going from murderous until he looks more bothered by the turn of events than infuriated by his sister saying yes to a marriage proposal. He draws in a quiet breath and asks, ‘What is this really about?’

At first, all Bucky does is chew on his lower lip but it’s not long until his thoughts are bubbling over and he can’t keep it to himself any longer, letting out a frustrated breath as he gestures wildly into the air.

‘She’s smart, okay? She should be going to college and studying her masters or whatever and graduating with high honours and shit like that, not jumping into marriage and having kids before she’s ready for it.’

‘That’s up to her to decide, isn’t it? And who’s to say she can’t do both? And it’s not like they’ll get married within the next couple of weeks.’

Bucky’s frown deepens, not backing down from the conversation, ‘Okay, say if they get married _after_ graduation, it’ll still mean she’s gotta put her career on hold for kids and you _know_ they’re a full time job all on their own.’

Steve pauses for a while and can’t help but wonder if this is what it means to have a sibling; someone to worry over you while simultaneously raise you to the top, helping you be the best person you could be despite grumbling every step of the way even if they’re proud as all get out. He wonders if all siblings do this kind of thing for each other, or if this is just what the Barnes do for each other. He wonders if Rebecca knows how much Bucky cares for her and thinks that she must do. ‘You really put some thought into this, huh?’

‘Of course. She deserves to take her time to think things through, not throw it away on an emotional whim. I mean, I wouldn’t expect you to drop your studies or your job just because I asked you to marry me so we could have kids and look after them.’

He snorts, ‘Yeah, can’t fault you for that. But she deserves to make her own choices, too. She’s old enough to figure things out on her own.’

There’s a slow rising blush appearing on Bucky’s cheeks but he’s doing everything not to point it out, looking through the mail and zeroing on a flyer for a new Indian restaurant that opened just a couple of blocks down the road instead.

Steve smiles a little as he slips off the stool to stand next to the brunet, tugging onto the sleeve of his jacket and pulling him so their eyes could meet. ‘It’s a good thing one of us is lacking in the right stuff to be able to have kids.’

His blush deepens and he tries to shrug it off, keeping his eyes resolutely glued on the lunch time special that comes with any type of curry served with rice and naan bread. ‘Well, I mean, you know what I mean.’

‘Yeah,’ he says through a quiet laugh as he pulls the mail and flyers out of Bucky’s hands so he can stop finding excuses to distract his attention, ‘but I’m starting to think it’s less about Rebecca getting married too young than it is about her being proposed to _first_.’

Bucky’s eyes snap up to meet his as he shakes his head vehemently, ‘No! That’s not it. I mean, yeah, we’ve got some serious sibling rivalry going on but not about this. This is too important to have a stupid race over.’

‘Okay, I believe you.’

He lets out a long breath, his body sagging forwards until he’s got Steve completely wrapped up in his arms, his chin tilted so he can fit it on top of his head. They stand like that for a little while, long enough that Bucky is swaying them to a tune only he can hear, gently rocking side to side.

Steve reckons it’s not just about Rebecca getting engaged, not just about her being too young for it but he can’t read Bucky’s mind; all he can do is be patient and wait.

‘She asked me to take dad’s place,’ he confesses quietly into his hair, his arms tightening around his back and pulling him in closer. ‘Since he’s...’ he chokes a little, swallows loudly into the quiet air, ‘I feel like I gotta put up a fight because dad would make sure to do whatever he can to see that Richard’s good enough for his baby girl, you know?’

Steve huffs under his breath, remembering the devastation he felt at seeing Bucky so lost without his dad around, whom they all had to bury when they were only 15, just barely half a year later before his ma passed away, too, leaving him alone and feeling like he was drowning. He holds Bucky tighter, wishing their parents were around to help them through this, talk to them until they eventually figured out what’s what.

‘You’re doing really good, you know? I think your dad would be proud of you for helping out so much, for growing up as fast as you could so that your sister could stay younger for a little bit longer.’

‘Yeah, and now she wants to get married.’

‘Maybe she wants what your parents had together, you ever thought of it like that? Maybe this is her way of wanting to honour his memory.’

‘There are other ways of—’

‘Yeah, but this is _hers_.’

Bucky sighs again, his breath ruffling through his hair. He holds on for a couple of breaths longer before stepping back and letting go. He goes back to the table by the door, putting his wallet back into his pocket and picking up his keys again even though he’d only just got back barely fifteen minutes ago. He pauses by the door, one hand on the doorknob but not yet twisting it open, looking over his shoulder to where he’s standing with his hands in his pockets to keep the warmth in a little longer.

‘Would you say yes if I asked?’

He snorts, ‘You’re an idiot if you think I’d say anything other than yes.’

‘You’re a punk,’ he says through a sharp grin, all teeth, but the tension leaving his shoulders say a lot more than his words do as he gives Steve a mock punch to the jaw, his knuckles brushing over his skin intimately.

‘And you’re a jerk so I guess that makes us a match made in Heaven.’

Bucky laughs, coming back towards him for a kiss and whispering, “ _I do_ ” into his good ear.

\--

22 wasn’t a good year. He knows because he remembers he and Bucky almost broke up that year. Because Steve was eligible to join a super-soldier program funded by the American government, handpicked by one of the lead doctors who was in charge of it, and Bucky was vehemently against it.

‘My dad was a soldier; he fought and laid down his life so that me and ma could have ours. I got no right to do any less by him. This isn’t about me,’ Steve argues, standing firm in his conviction even though Bucky looks like he wants to shake them all loose.

‘Right, ‘cause you got nothing to prove,’ he says as he looks down at Steve over his nose.

And he hates that, hates that Bucky would make him feel small, make him feel stupid for trying to change what can’t be changed, for trying to be _more_ even though a lot of people think _less_ of him. He squeezes his hands into fist and stares Bucky down. He refuses to budge, refuses to back down; this is a chance he’s been waiting for his entire life and he’s not going to let Bucky make this decision for him, not going to let this opportunity go, not going to be swayed just because they’ve been together for the better part of half a decade but friends for almost thrice that.

Bucky flinches at his words but hides it under a shrug, turning his back on Steve as he picks up his phone and stares blindly at the screen, ‘Don’t let me stop you,’ he say nonchalantly, refusing to look over at him as he speaks.

‘I won’t,’ he tells him resolutely as he starts packing up his stuff, ignoring the hurt and the twinge in his heart as he flutters his hand over an ornamental coin box before choosing to leave it behind. Bucky was the one who bought it, after all. ‘I’m heading out in a week; I’ll sort my stuff out before then.’

There’s silence before Bucky’s voice, steady but quiet, tells him, ‘Sure.’

He leaves the apartment with a duffel bag packed with a couple changes for clothes, toiletries and just the essentials, thinking about going to the library that’s opened 24/7 to bunk down there for a while. It’s a few hours later as he’s thinking about how to sort out a possible long-term storage hire when he remembers he forgot to unplug his laptop charger, and to shut it down instead of leaving it on sleep mode, so he goes back near midnight to a dark apartment and their bedroom door open. He figures Bucky must’ve gone out to drink or something, but he doesn’t care as he goes through the motions of packing up his laptop and the cables to clear up the desk space for Bucky to use for himself.

Steve makes a final check of the apartment before he leaves, making sure he hasn’t left anything else on, but then he notices the half-opened window that Bucky must’ve forgotten to close before he left the place. He rolls his eyes and wonders if Bucky is just asking for their apartment to be robbed as he reaches out to slide it shut but then he catches sight of the brunet sitting outside on the fire-escape. He’s tucked into the far corner and all he can see are his legs and his bare feet. He would’ve missed seeing him if he hadn’t come closer because of the window.

He lifts the window a little bit and sticks his head out to look at the brunet who’s leaning one elbow on his bent knee and hiding behind his raised arm.

‘Hey, forgot something?’ Bucky asks casually, his voice gravelly and tired. It sounds as if he’s started smoking again but he can’t smell it and there’s nothing around to act as a makeshift ashtray. It’s cold, though.

Steve opens the window fully, drops his duffel bag on the floor somewhere behind him so he can sit on the ledge. He can’t see Bucky’s face, but the grip he’s got on the back of his head is white-knuckled tight. He sighs as he thumps his head on the wall behind him, hoping to find the words to try and plead with the brunet one more time – he doesn’t want their last conversation to be something either of them is going to regret ever having.

‘I need to do this, Buck; you can’t stop me.’

The brunet laughs under his breath, ‘I never could. You find a cause and you stick to it. You wouldn’t be Steve Rogers if you didn’t. It’s...’

Bucky stops, shifting his position to pull his outstretched leg closer to him, bent at the knee, still hiding his face behind his arm and Steve wishes he could see him. He wants to see him before he goes.

‘It’s?’ He prompts.

‘It’s why I love you,’ he says through a sigh, ‘but don’t let me stop you. Don’t let me stop you from doing what you want, don’t let me change your mind, because I don’t wanna be the reason you decided to stick around and end up regretting everything and hate me.’

‘I’m not gonna hate you,’ he denies even though he got dangerously close to it before. He’d been angry and frustrated and felt on the verge of physically fighting over it but...he’d never hate Bucky, not like that.

‘If you want you can stay here,’ Bucky keeps talking, his voice deceptively light but Steve can see the shake in his shoulders and the way his other hand keeps tugging at the frayed ends of his jeans. ‘That way you can have an easier time of sorting your stuff out before you go. I can chill someplace else.’

‘You trying to get rid of me?’ He jokes but he can see that it falls flat between them – Bucky isn’t laughing and he’s...it feels like the end and he doesn’t know what to do about it. This isn’t what he wanted.

‘I’m letting you go,’ he says through a shrug and Steve can’t take it anymore, he pushes himself out of the window and takes up the last remaining space in front of Bucky.

He’d been crying. He still is and Bucky still isn’t looking at him, is still picking away at the loose fabric of his jeans with shaking fingers. Slowly, Steve pushes Bucky’s knees apart a little so he can kneel between them but even as he’s doing this Bucky’s leaning back and holding his arms across his chest, putting more distance between them that Steve worries he won’t be able to cross.

The metal grate beneath his knees hurt a little bit but he knows Bucky is hurting more; he’s always been more in tune with his emotions than Steve has, won’t drown them out or force them down until it’s small enough to be ignored. Between the two of them it’s always been Bucky who’d talk it out, to solve their problems, so to see him bury his words hurts more than Steve thought it would.

‘I have to do this,’ he pleads and tries to catch Bucky’s eyes but they remain elusive. Bucky feels warm beneath his hands but the brunet is still trembling a little.

‘People die, you know,’ he mumbles but shakes his head and tells him, ‘Remember last year when we talked about Rebecca getting married? How you said that it was her way of honouring mum and dad?’

‘Bucky,’

‘This is yours, right? This is something you gotta do, isnt’ it? Who am I to stop you from doing that?’

There’s a moment of anguish on Bucky’s face, one he’d only seen twice before – the first time when his dad had just passed away and the second when Steve’s ma followed barely half a year later. He gets it now, why Bucky is so reluctant.

It’s on the news all the time, people fighting overseas; wars and struggles over land or oil or whatever foul politics. Kids starving, mothers crying, fathers and brothers dying for a unnamed cause, blood on the streets, on the walls, soldiers carrying guns, _children_ carrying guns and the news footage that’s always a blur of browns, smoke, fire and death.

‘I can’t promise you anything,’ Steve whispers with a shaky voice as he reaches out to touch Bucky’s forearm. He can’t promise he’ll come back the same. He can’t promise to not die. His ma raised him to be honest, tried her best to make sure he grew up to be a good man, and as much as he wants to promise the whole world to Bucky it is beyond his capabilities to do so.

‘Please,’ Bucky begs, bowing his head low and pulling his knees closer, trying to make himself small, smaller than he is and it’s sad how Steve has always tried to be the bigger man and here Bucky is trying to shrink in on himself.

‘I promise,’ his voice cracks and he can’t breathe through his nose, now, too stuffed up from being on the verge of tears but he forges on, pulling Bucky’s arm until he can twine their fingers together, holding on tight, ‘I promise I’ll be with you until the end of the line.’

Bucky’s emotions crumple in on themselves, bowling over until his forehead meets Steve’s shoulder, his arms snaking around his waist until he’s encircled between them, squeezing tightly as if hoping it’ll be enough to make him stay. He’s crying wetly into his shirt, hitched breaths and clenched teeth, and all Steve can do is wrap his arms around the brunet’s shoulders, his fingers curved around the shape of his biceps.

He’s got a week; it’ll have to be enough for the both of them. They promised themselves to each other but sometimes, even that’s not enough.

\--

 


	15. Chapter 15

Camp Lehigh could not have prepared him for this. Summer in New York could not have prepared him for this. He’s 23 years old and he’s sweating out of every pore in his new and improved body; it is _sweltering_.

‘Chin up; you’ll get used to it in a jiffy.’

He turns to give Peggy a biting smile, wondering how her brown curls continue to remain coiffed and perfectly styled while he’s got his short-cropped hair plastered to his _scalp_. He can’t imagine doing drills under the intensity of this heat. It’ll be an unwanted race between getting sunstroke or heatstroke first and he wonders if there’s a possibility to get both at the same time.

‘Don’t be daft,’ she tells him when he unwittingly voices his thoughts, walking away from the shade. The helicopter ride here had been good, breezy, but now it’s all stuffy and he just wants to find a fan and park himself right in front of it, making noises into the whirring plastic blades so he can turn into a robot and not just sound like one. He doesn’t care that he’s here under a new promotion of being a Private First Class and should be thinking of making a good impression for the rest of the COs he’s bound to meet and greet later on but _damn_ is it hard to give it much more than a passing thought under the oppressive sun.

Steve follows after her, listening to the helicopter behind them power down, the fan blades slowing their rotation and quieting. Peggy leads them through a long building, possibly an assembly hall that was refurbished to hold cubicles and offices instead. At the end of it she stops in front of a set of double doors, her heels click together as she waits for Steve to stand in front of her so she can scrutinize his uniform. He can see there’s a bit of desert dust clinging to the leather of his boots and the bottom of his trouser legs but he’ll clean them up later once he’s dismissed.

She clears her throat as she casually corrects his feet with a tap of her toe, tilts his chin up and pushes his shoulders until they’re out of their normal slouch. ‘Since you are the only successful candidate to the program you’ll be playing a different role than that of a normal Private First class. Colonel Phillips will brief you in on that.’

‘Phillips is here?’ He asks, momentarily breaking his stance but quickly correcting it before she could do it for him. ‘I was under the impression that he would continue training the new recruits at Camp Lehigh.’

‘He was there under the request of Dr. Erskine and Mr. Stark to provide a different perspective on the eligibility of the recruits for the super-soldier program,’ she pinches his arm which he does his best not to give a reaction to, knowing that she’s thinking about the dummy grenade incident which had made the doctor proud of him, Howard throw out a hoot, and reluctantly impressed old man Phillips but had made her rather cross. He fights down a smile, biting the inside of his lip to hide it. ‘As that program is no longer running, Phillips has been reassigned here. All the better to keep you in line.’

Steve keeps his eyes fixed over her head, keeps his chin parallel to the floor under her guidance, but he can see the little smirk of her red-painted lips that he cannot help but return even as his heart aches a little at the thought of Abraham and Howard. He hopes he’ll do right by them; that he can continue to remain, above all else, a good man.

‘Alright, you’re as ready as I can make you. Hop to it,’ she says as she turns him to face the door before grabbing the doorknob and opening it into a large meeting room. Ten pairs of eyes immediately turn towards him and he tries not to swallow too audibly as he takes in a deep breath and steps into the room, saluting the men and women inside exactly as Phillips taught him back in camp.

‘Private First Class Steve Rogers at your service and reporting for duty,’ he greets as he makes eye contact with Phillips who looks like he wants to crow at the room. He fights down a smile but it’s hard when he’s seeing the same emotion in the old man’s eyes as he stands near the head of the table and gestures over towards him.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you Abraham and Howard’s boy.’

He feels a swell of pride at being presented as such and he vows to make sure that no matter what, people will continue to think fondly of Abraham and Howard even years and decades after their death.

\--

He knew. He knew being in the military was going to be hard work. He knew that he was going to be away for long periods of time with little to no holiday to go back and see Bucky. He _knew_ , but he just hadn’t expected how challenging it was going to be because it was one thing to know but it was another to _know_ after experiencing it.

Steve hasn’t been in the same country as Bucky for over six months and even though they have bi-weekly skype conversations it doesn’t change the fact that they are countries and oceans apart.

‘I miss you,’ he says into the camera. It’s nearing 2 in the morning back home in Brooklyn but this was the only time they could fit the call in because of his schedule. He hates it but he wouldn’t change it for anything. They make do, just about.

Bucky smiles into the screen, his face lit up by the blue light of the phone. He’s lying in bed, hair tussled up, looking sleepy and soft. What he wouldn’t do right about now to be lying right next to him. ‘I miss you, too. Your tan is looking good,’ he teases and Steve can’t help but laugh at that. For weeks he had an unfortunate tan line around his eyes because of his sunglasses. It took a while before the skin around his eyes caught up to the rest of his face. At least people have stopped calling him a red panda now, although Jim still likes to bring it up every once in a while.

‘Did you get the package I sent you? It should’ve gotten to you a couple of days ago by my count,’ Steve asks as he sits back in his seat a little, adjusting his body until he’s comfortably slumped, his arms and ankles crossed over each other.

‘You mean this?’ He asks as he holds a worn brown moleskin journal mostly filled with little messages, letters, a couple of doodles, some portraits, landscapes or whatever Steve felt like drawing that particular day. ‘I haven’t put it down since it arrived. Thanks. It’s really awesome.’

He smiles, feeling warmth rush through his body at the look on Bucky’s face, tinged with a little bit of regret. ‘Happy birthday. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it back for you.’

‘No worries. You’re still coming back end of June, right?’

‘Yeah, if no surprises crop up like last time then we’re good.’

Bucky already knows the surprise came in the form of Tony Stark who’d, after much consultation with leading lady Pepper Potts, decided to drop by and offer his services as a defense mechanical engineer. He’d look reluctant and it took a lot of pushing and pulling from James Rhodes to get Tony to do much of anything.

Steve mostly knew Tony through his father and from the multitude of articles surrounding the prodigy. He saw how much Tony disliked being compared to Howard whom Steve still misses and thinks about even though it’d been a long time since he passed. He’d hoped that, after their initial introduction, they would get along well but as soon as the dark-haired man laid eyes on him he groaned in dismay and told him to get out of his face.

‘Hey, come on; the guy lost his dad,’ Bucky reasons as he lays down the journal on the bedside table behind him. ‘Howard’s great – you won’t shut up about him – but the guy spent the last couple years of his life dedicated to the project and to you and, well, maybe Tony Stark developed a complex or something,’ he says through a shrug.

‘Look, it’s not like we’re strangers to parents dying and funerals, okay? But I wouldn’t bite his head off if I found out he’d been buddy-buddy with my pa.’

He shrugs again, ‘Maybe that’s his way of dealing with it; everybody’s different.’

Steve groans, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling and resting his head on the back of the chair. ‘Yeah, okay. I’ll keep trying,’ he gives in grudgingly.

‘That’s my Steve.’

He snorts and the both of them move on to talking about what else Bucky’s been up to since their last call. Bucky’s got a performance review coming up in about a month and he thinks he’s done good enough to earn a pay-rise; there haven’t been any customer complaints that he hasn’t been able to deal with properly and promptly, with the garage still running smoothly most of the time. They’re still abiding by the rule of first in-first out but the couple of times the other staff slipped up and caused problems it was easily manageable and corrected.

‘Nice,’ he grins, ‘you sound like you’re running the place like a well-oiled machine.’

Bucky groans, slapping a head over his face at this. Steve laughs and is already counting the days until he’s back home, sharing their bed and breathing in each other’s presence. There’s a litany of “ _I miss you, I miss you, I miss you_ ” running in his head constantly the longer he keeps his eyes on Bucky but he deals with it, placating himself with the thought of _soon_.

\--

It is exactly one week before his 24th birthday when he finally touches down on American soil and takes the first steps towards getting himself home as soon as possible. He hails a taxi, helps an elderly couple into it, hails another one and finally starts making his way back to their apartment where he knows Bucky is waiting for him.

He wonders if there’s going to be cake at home. Wonders if there’s going to be _ice cream cake_ waiting for him because he loves those things and it’s only something he allows himself to eat once a year.

They get stuck in typical New York traffic about halfway home and he can see a florist just two shops away with their bright yellow sunflowers and pale purple lilies next to the fiery marigolds. He thinks of his ma then and vows to buy a bouquet and visit her within the next couple of days to give thanks that she gave birth to him and helped him grow up to be the man he is today. He knows he gave her grief but he also knows how much she loved him and cared for him and worried about him even when she’s lying in a hospital bed just inches away from passing.

It still hurts to think about her death even now but he holds it close because he still loves her and the day he stops caring is the day he stops being someone she can call her son. He hopes to God that it never comes.

Meanwhile, the taxi fare continues to steadily climb upwards. They crawl along for another three blocks before he decides he can do with some exercise to stretch out his legs. He’d been sitting for too long and he feels the need to run. Just the thought of running towards Bucky is enough to get his heart pumping so he quickly pays his fare, plus extra as tip, before he gets out, bringing his lone luggage with him as he weaves his way through the cars until he reaches the sidewalk, starting out at a jog.

One block passes by his feet, then two, then three, and the closer he finds himself getting to their apartment, the faster his feet carries him until he’s going at almost a dead-run with a smile on his face that he has no doubt some people would think him crazy for but _damn_ is it good to be back home after so long, to breathe in the city air and to listen to the city noise that he’d been missing since he got stationed out in the desert.

 _It’s so good_.

He bounds his way up the stairs, foregoing the elevator in favour of being in motion, and it’s not long until he’s huffing to a stop outside their door, digging his keys out from one of the pockets of his duffel bag and slots it into the lock. He opens the door with a flourish, letting out a loud, “ _Ta-da!_ ” as he does so but feels his mood drop when he sees Bucky sitting by the kitchen counter with a vice grip on his phone and his face pale with shock.

‘You okay?’ He asks as he slips his bag onto the floor. The question doesn’t change Bucky’s outward appearance but he can hear the creak of his phone as his grip tightens around it. ‘Did something happen? Is it Rebecca? Is your mum okay?’ He starts to feel panic rise at the thought of his second family getting hurt or in trouble and he can’t help but beg Bucky to just _say something_.

‘It’s—’ his voice cracks. Bucky clears his throat as he drops his phone face down onto the counter, his palm flat over the case, ‘They’re fine; it’s not Rebecca or mum. They’re fine,’ he repeats but it’s obvious from the look in his eye that something isn’t fine and Steve has no idea what it is.

He takes a seat in the other kitchen stool next to Bucky who shifts slightly at their proximity. The brunet still has one hand on his phone, his fingers curled tight around the gadget. ‘What is it?’ He asks, trying his best to catch his eye when he realizes Bucky hasn’t looked his way even after he stepped inside their apartment.

‘You remember Natasha?’

‘Yeah, she alright?’ He only knows her as one of Bucky’s friends from college when he took a course for Russian studies just to try it out and Natasha was one of the student teachers there that was astoundingly more competent to teach the class than the lecturer himself. Steve got along well enough with her the few times they’ve met up but he wouldn’t call them friends the way she and Bucky are.

‘She’s pregnant.’

His mind jumps to conclusions without his say so and he worries if she went through a miscarriage or if they just found out the baby is a little on the abnormal side. He wonders, from the tone Bucky is speaking in, if she’s considering dropping the baby or if it’s more about money issues. He remembers how much his ma struggled with his medical bills but also how much she loved him despite all of that. He hopes the baby isn’t like him – Natasha’s strong so that should mean the baby ought to be strong, too, right? ‘Is the baby okay?’

‘The baby’s mine.’

His mind stops and he goes cold all over as he processes the words over and over again.

‘It was an accident – we both got blind drunk and slept together.’

‘You didn’t use protection?’ He manages to string together as he grips the edge of the countertop with one hand and keeps the other tightly clenched over his thigh.

‘We did. She was on the pill and there was a used condom in the rubbish when I checked in the morning.’

‘Doesn’t mean it’s yours,’ he hisses and the tone catches Bucky off-guard, reeling away slightly in surprise.

‘It _is_ mine,’ he retorts just as scathingly, returning fire for fire, ‘I wouldn’t do that to her and I wouldn’t do that to myself, no fucking way.’

‘Then how do you know the baby’s yours?’

‘Because I was the last person she had sex with; there hasn’t been anybody else since then.’

‘I can’t believe—how long ago was this?’ He asks as he tries to remember any of their past conversations where Bucky seemed a little sketchy in but none comes to mind. Either Bucky’s a great actor at assuaging his guilt or he was going to pretend it never happened and sweep it under the rug to be forgotten.

Bucky’s slow to reply and it’s enough to send dread creeping up his spine. How long _has_ it been? A month? Two? Is it as simple as them getting so stupid drunk they forgot that one of them was in a long-term relationship and just went for it? No matter how much Steve thinks about it he can’t see a reason that Bucky would cheat – he’s voiced his unhappiness that Steve is always away and for months and months at a time but he never voiced his thoughts about breaking up to find someone else to be with. Steve can’t find remember if he’s done anything particularly bad that he would drive Bucky to lay in someone else’s bed and Bucky’s never made any insinuations that he would’ve preferred to be living with Natasha instead.

It feels like he just got sucker punched when he’d been expecting a hug instead.

‘Since end of March; her tummy just started showing.’

Steve staggers out of his seat, leans on the wall with one hand and his back to Bucky. He can hear Bucky talking to him but all he can hear is static and his own mind adding to it, words like; _3 months, pregnant, end of March, Natasha and Bucky_ , _Natasha and Bucky, Natasha and Bucky_.

He chokes. He hasn’t been around for almost two years, not consistently at least, and maybe that’s part of the reason they slept together. Maybe Bucky was just lonely because Steve’s never around and Natasha is, and maybe that’s a shit reason to give but he knows they’re friends and friends complain to each other and one drink can easily become two become three become more.

‘Steve.’

‘I— ’he draws in a stuttering breath as his mind turns over the unfairness of the situation. It wasn’t fair of him to expect Bucky to continue waiting for him, and it’s not fair of him to deprive their baby of a mum and dad, he won’t do that to them, especially not to Bucky who’s been talking about wanting kids of his own since they were in their pre-teen years.

‘Natasha and I talked about it; she wants to keep the baby.’

Steve nods and decides it’s a responsible thing to do. Between the two of them he has no doubt the baby is going to look gorgeous. His heart aches at the thought of how much they’ll all look good together and he regrets that he can’t be the one to give Bucky the future and life he wants.

‘So what’s the plan?’ Steve asks as he continues to face the wall, leaning forward until his forehead meets his arm, the long hours on the plane and the short run here finally catching up on him.

‘I don’t know. I guess it depends on you.’

A laugh escapes him at the thought that Bucky assumed he’d still be in the picture despite all the evidence pointing to the opposite; he hasn’t been a stable fixture in Bucky’s life for a long time and he doesn’t see that changing anytime soon. He can’t ask Bucky to choose him when he’s got a kid on the way.

He remembers how hard it was to grow up without a dad, just subsisting on stories that his ma passed to him and showing the photos they took together. His ma did the best she could with what she got and gave generously even when they barely had anything in their pockets. He doesn’t want their kid to experience life with a single parent struggling to fulfil the role of two people.

Steve knows what Bucky’s asking without saying anything and the only thing he regrets is that he’ll no longer have Bucky to come back home to anymore.

‘I guess this is the end of the line for us,’ he murmurs as he pushes himself off the wall and starts walking towards his duffel bag. It feels so much heavier suddenly and he staggers under the weight of it. ‘Things happen, you know? It’s not anybody’s fault.’

‘Are we breaking up?’ Bucky whispers shakily.

‘I know you’ll make a great husband and a great dad,’ he says around a heartbroken smile as he thinks of Bucky holding a newborn baby and the imagery makes Steve feel simultaneously happy and miserable. ‘We both know what it’s like to be without one so I know you’ll do right by them.’

‘Steve.’

He can’t bear to see Bucky, not when he’s on the verge of tears and breaking down – Bucky was his last connection to family and now he has no-one left. ‘I’m on a two-week break; I’ll get my stuff shifted over to long-term storage before I head back so I’ll keep the key for the time being.’

It’s like déjà vu except this time he knows there’s no going back and no going forward. Steve hears Bucky call his name again but he pushes himself to open the door and leave. His hand is shaking as he lets go of the doorknob and he has to take deep, steady breaths as he puts one foot in front of the other, one hand on the banister as he makes his way down through blurry eyesight. He pauses when he hears a muffled crash behind him, the sound of glass breaking, but he keeps on walking.

He keeps on walking.

\--

It only takes him four days to clear all of his things out of the apartment, mostly done during the hours where Bucky worked at the garage, all of which only amounted to a meagre six boxes. The bulky items – the microwave, the television, couch, bed, dresser – they bought together and he didn’t see the point in taking any of it because it’s not like he has the space for it nor the need.

He signs a contract that lets him borrow some storage space, basically a closet, and pile up all his boxes in the corner, two stacks of three boxes each. He sets up a monthly deposit to pay for it and wonders how much money he’s going to end up funnelling into the business. He doesn’t see himself leaving the army within the next couple of years so he guesses it’ll probably rake up a pretty penny.

Steve makes one last visit when he knows Bucky isn’t home. There’s a note waiting for him on the kitchen counter and he debates leaving the keys on top of it and leave without reading it but...

He shakes his head as he makes one last sweep around the apartment for anything he might’ve forgotten or accidentally left behind but he comes up with nothing. He pulls his keys out of his pocket, unhooks it from the key-ring and sets it on top of the table, slipping the letter into his pocket quickly and leaves before changing his mind about taking it.

Twice he catches himself wanting to throw it away, four times that he almost opens it before he changes his mind until he ends up stuffing it into the bottom of his duffel bag to be left alone.

His two-week break passes at an agonizing pace, full of heartbreak and regret and thoughts of Bucky and Natasha and their baby. He drags the letter out from his bag two days before his flight back, almost ripping it in the process, and it takes a few stops and starts before he’s got the crumpled letter in hand and he’s reading the first words:

_Steve,_

_I’m sorry I can’t change anything because if I could then maybe I would’ve joined that stupid program right with you. No matter how much I complained about it, no matter how much I hated the amount of time they took, my bellyaching has never been because of you. Please believe me. They made you healthy and that is the only blessing I see to come out of it. ~~I just wis~~_

_We were supposed to be it – till the end of the line, right? But I screwed up and I can’t change any of it. Even if I could I don’t think I would because Natasha went in for a scan and she told me that we’re having a girl. ~~Remember whe~~_

_I regret a lot of things but I can’t regret this, because the baby deserves to be loved just as fiercely as I did you. ~~No matter what, I’ll alwa~~_

_Please keep in touch with me, even if it’s just a text. I can’t bear to lose you. I can’t bear the thought of you disappearing out of my life. Even if it’s just a stupid emoticon, let me know you’re still alive._

He cries, but he forces himself to send Bucky a thumbs up anyway. He gets a reply almost immediately saying, “ _Goodnight, Steve_ ”. He replies with a sleepy moon and it’s the last message he sends for the night. He doesn’t send another one until he’s back under the desert sun and a week passes without any long-distance skype calls. If any of his army mates think anything of it they don’t bring it up and he’s grateful for that because he doesn’t want to talk about it or even think about it.

Steve invests himself fully into the military lifestyle and it helps to drown out the _what-if’s_ and _but-maybe’s_ most days.

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My internet has been kind of horrible lately. As in, I tried to upload this chapter a few days ago but the page wouldn't even load and I had no clue what was going on. (We were running on dial-up speed, whaaaat...)
> 
> Anyway...Hope it was worth the wait. X'D


	16. Chapter 16

It’s another scorcher of a day and he can’t help but laugh a little at the newcomers, already wilting under the harsh sun and the bone-dry wind. He’s sweating a little but after spending so long over here he might as well call this place his second home; he can deal with it.

Among the newcomers are the transfers. He spots a couple of them and picks them out of the bunch as the seasoned veterans, the ones whose military training forces them to shoulder the heat the way they would shoulder their backpack, unlike the greenhorns who are doing their best but are struggling regardless.

One of them trips up, accidentally tossing the box he’s carrying two feet in front of him and landing flat on his face. The sight makes Dum Dum let out a roaring laugh, his head thrown back while Steve admonishes him with the back of his hand on the older man’s shoulder and goes to help the guy out.

‘You alright?’ He asks as he straightens the box first right side up and lends a hand. A couple of guys are laughing a little, too, but they continue on with unloading the cargo into the large warehouse. Dum Dum eventually stops laughing long enough to give a hand, too.

‘This place is worse than Fresno in summer,’ the guy groans as he accepts the hand and starts patting the dry sand and dirt out of his clothes, squinting a little as he does so.

‘Hey, no sweat,’ he grins as he pushes his sunglasses back up to sit nicely on his nose and he gets cussed out by the man who introduces himself as Jim Morita. ‘So, California, huh?’

‘Yeah, why? Thought I was from the Continent?’ He retorts, his voice a little defensive about it and Steve knows a thing or two about being thrown assumptions and stereotypes.

‘Well, my ma’s an Irish immigrant so you’re not gonna get flak from me about it,’ he says in a placating manner as he picks up the dropped box and helps take it into the warehouse, passing by Dum Dum who hip-checks him and dodges the leg swipe thrown his way.

He leaves the box in a pile next to the others, straightening it out as Morita does the same next to him with a heavier drop.

‘Sorry,’ the dark-haired man apologizes sheepishly. ‘One of the guys on the plane told me to go back to China where I came from, never mind the fact that I’m a Japanese descendent and a third generation American.’

Steve sighs; he also knows a thing or two about bigots and bullies. ‘Well, either he’s gonna learn to grow out of that real quick around here, or someone gonna shunt him off to do something where there ain’t gonna be air-conditioning for miles around.’

Morita winces but shrugs as he follows Steve out to help with the rest of the unloading. This time when he swipes his leg out to catch Dum Dum unawares he succeeds but the older man manages to save himself with a quick stagger and an even quicker curse.

‘So, you packed anything for the weather?’ Steve asks as he picks up a box from the dwindling pile.

‘Yeah, I’ll slip on my Hawaiian shirt and straw hat later,’ he bites back with a hint of sarcasm that makes Steve laugh. It reminds him a little bit of Bucky and, despite the hurt, he thinks he’ll get along well with Morita.

‘Easy, easy,’ he chuckles and makes sure to keep Morita between himself and Dum Dum before they end up inciting a brawl. ‘I’ll give you a welcoming gift at lunch time or something.’

‘What’s in it?’ He asks cautiously as he places the box two stacks over from Steve’s.

‘Just some things I found pretty damn helpful for life out here in the desert – neck scarf, sun screen, eye black and a chap-stick,’ he lists as he points out at the beige fabric wrapped around his neck, the little smudges of grease under his eyes, the bottle of lotion and chap-stick in one of his belt compartments. ‘All new, because as much as I like the concept of “sharing is caring” I’m not that keen on indirect kisses.’

Morita laughs and they shake on it. The moving of the cargo doesn’t take much longer with more people helping out and it’s not long until Steve gets to introduce Timothy “call me Dum Dum” Dugan to James “but call me Jim instead” Morita.

‘What, no nickname for you?’ Jim asks when Steve simply introduces himself sans middle name.

He grins as he shakes his head – the only nickname he ever got was from Bucky and he doubts he’ll be using it anymore. He doubts he’ll hear it ever again.

\--

Word around the base is that James Rhodes and Tony Stark will be arriving later today for a surveillance drone demonstration; an upgrade of the old model that has a little bit of A.I, is able to scan terrain and pinpoint any heat signatures within a small vicinity. It won’t be good for figuring out who’s the enemy and who isn’t but Steve thinks it could be pivotal to ensuring little to no loss of life.

He’s always amazed at the things Tony can make, the way he takes after Howard not just in appearances but also in intelligence. The only thing about the man he doesn’t like is how little respect he pays to everybody he thinks doesn’t deserve it. It also stings whenever Tony has verbally told him how much he dislikes him and goes out of his way to mock him for a muscle-head.

It’s not that he hasn’t tried; he has tried every time to let bygones be bygones but he can see how Tony is neither able nor willing to and there’s only so much Steve can do before he gets the hint to stop altogether.

Despite being there to bear witness to almost every one of their disastrous interactions, Peggy urges him to keep trying.

‘You get along so well with James; I’m sure the both of you can find enough common ground to at least be civil with one another.’

‘It’s not a one-way street, Peggy; if Tony Stark isn’t willing to put in the effort then it’s not gonna go anywhere.  Don’t get me wrong, I’d like to be friends with Tony but he’s made it very clear he’d rather I be on the other side of the base whenever he’s around.’

Someone scoffs behind him and it doesn’t take him too many guesses to figure it’s Tony. ‘Actually, I’d rather you be on the other side of the _planet_.’

Steve keeps his eyes on Peggy as he gestures over his shoulder to the dark-haired man, as if to say: “ _See?_ ” before he leaves without another word, ignoring the way Tony doesn’t bother to moderate his volume while James keeps his voice hushed and private as they bicker with one another.

A part of him wonders if this is going to be how they’ll deal with one another in the coming years; if Tony will remain antagonistic with him while he walks away. He doesn’t like bullies but he can see that Tony has deep-seated issues to do with his late father and, honestly, he isn’t equipped to deal with any of that. Heck, he can barely deal with his own problems let alone anybody else’s.

He misses Howard sometimes but he’s not stupid enough to try mentioning that name in conjunction with Tony’s. That’s a can of worms he’ll happily leave firmly shut.

\--

His involvement in various missions put him on the fast-track up the ranks until he’s promoted to First Sergeant even though he hasn’t been around nearly long enough to achieve that new status. He wonders if this is something he earned on his own merit or if this is just because he’s the only successful outcome of the super-soldier program and they want to promote his association with the military as a means of recruitment. It probably also helps that he takes little to no time off unless Peggy or Phillips or both of them gang up on him and make him fly back to America even though he hasn’t really got much to do there anymore.

He hasn’t seen Bucky or spoken to him since the tail end of June and even though he still sends the odd emoticon about once a week he doesn’t really bother with starting a conversation either. He’s seen the moments where Bucky’s typing up something but it always disappears after ten seconds with nothing to show for it. What does one say to the person who knocked up a friend and is now having a kid together? He feels awkward with Bucky in a way he’s never been and he doesn’t know what to say to bridge the gap they forced between the two of them.

It’s the start of December now; he reckons that Natasha is probably about to pop. He wonders if she already has but Bucky just hasn’t told him. The thought makes him sour but he pushes it away; it’s not like they have much to do with each other anymore.

As soon as he lands back in New York he’s subjected to the rush and crush of people trying to fly out of the country or is flying back home for their holiday. It’s a madhouse but it makes Steve nostalgic as he manoeuvres through the crowd and stands outside in the frigid air. The ground is covered in dirty slush and a part of him yearns to see fresh snow blanket the environment around him.

He’s got no place to stay and it was a mixture of pride and shame that made him stay quiet about the fact that he and Bucky broke up. Maybe Peggy and Phillips assumed he’s got other friends to spend the holidays with but all of the friends he’s now got are back in that desert spending their Christmas trying not to think about snow and playing the movie Frozen on the big projector just for kicks. It’s not like he’s never spent the holidays there; the roast chickens they serve is top-notch and just the thought of the crispy skin is enough to make Steve crave for a damn good rotisserie right about now.

Steve shivers when a gust flurries past him and raises his hand to hail a taxi, thinking about the diner that has the best hot fudge sundae he’s ever had in the whole of New York. Their roast dinner isn’t half-bad either, although the skin is never crispy but the seasoning is flavoursome and the meat still moist instead of dry.

As usual, he gets stuck in traffic about midway through but this time he’s got no rush to be anywhere else so he just lets the miles slowly roll underfoot, content to daydream of nothing in particular until the driver parks him in front of the building with a flashing red neon sign. He wishes the man a Merry Christmas, pays him extra on top of the fare and the tip as a gift because he’s seen the photo of his family and he knows three kids is a lot of mouths to feed.

The diner is warm when he pushes in through the door and he’s greeted by a lady behind the counter who tells him to “ _go on and grab a seat; I’ll be right with you, honey_ ” as she takes a tray of dirty dishes into the back to be washed. He takes the booth in the far corner because as much as he’d like to take up his regular seat by the counter he can’t bear the thought of sitting with his back open to the cold.

He disliked the hot desert air, but there’s something about the frigidity of winter that makes him feel just as bad. He doesn’t think it has anything to do with paranoia but, well, he won’t rule it out, either. He’s aware enough to recognize that new trait about himself, at least.

‘Hi, here’s your menu. Would you like to hear the specials?’ the same lady from before asks as she slides a laminated sheet in front of him. She’s a new face here, middle-aged, shock of ginger hair, pale green eyes and freckles all over her face, but he guesses he shouldn’t be surprised; he hasn’t been back in too long. He wonders if Logan’s still the head chef here.

‘No, thanks; I was hankering for the roast chicken dinner on my way here so that’s me settled.’

She laughs as she writes down his order and asks if he’ll like any drinks to go with it.

‘A coffee with those unlimited refills, please.’

‘No problem,’ she smiles as she accepts back the menu and starts towards the kitchen, slipping the paper onto a rotator and ringing a bell next to it. ‘Please and thank you, Logan!’

Steve grins when he hears a gruff voice and wonders how the older man is doing. He’s usually only observed him through the small window where orders are handed out and cooked food is handed back, almost always seen with a toothpick sticking out of his mouth which is eventually replaced by a cigar during his breaks.

He remembers seeing the dog tags hanging around the man’s neck and wonders what grounds they have in common when it comes to being a soldier. He decides not to ask.

It’s starting to get a little too toasty by the time he’s had half his coffee so he pulls off his jacket and lays it on top of his bag next to him, thinking about whether he wants to stay budget for the next two weeks or splurge a little bit extra money on better accommodations. He’s just found a place for a decent price that is just a room with a bathroom attached when his food is placed in front of him piping hot. It smells just as amazing as he remembers and he thanks the lady, Pamela, before he digs in. The peas are buttery, the potatoes have a nice crunch to them and it says a lot about how much he’s missed this place when the first bite into the chicken is like experiencing nirvana; _so good_.

He’s thinking about ordering a second plate – a toss-up between more chicken goodness or _hot fudge sundae_ – when he sees Bucky staring at him from outside the door, hand halfway up to pull it open. He chokes in surprise and forces the potato and gravy down his throat with a mouthful of warm coffee.

 _Oh no_ , he panics a little in his head as the brunet steps inside like he’s not sure if he’s allowed and slowly makes his way over to Steve. His hair’s grown longer, almost past his ears and styled differently, hair parted in the middle. It’s an odd look, or maybe he’s just used to his hair short at the sides and longer at the top to curl a little over his forehead.

‘Hey, I didn’t know you were back,’ Bucky says slowly, as if he’s trying to measure his words carefully.

All Steve can do is shrug and avoid eye contact, staring over his shoulder instead where Natasha is sitting at another booth with the menu in front of her while she listens to Pamela tell her about the specials. ‘Just got in about a couple of hours ago.’

‘Oh, cool. Here for the Christmas break, then?’ He asks, making light conversation that Steve tries not to cringe at how awkward it feels, like they’re strangers or acquaintances at best when they used to know each other better than the back of their hands.

‘Yeah, mandatory leave,’ he nods as he cuts a corner of a potato and pushes it around the gravy, coating it as a distraction so he doesn’t have to think about how huge Natasha looks, her belly just about fit to burst out a newborn baby girl. He tries not to think of the scene in Alien but it’s stuck in his head and he’s a little grossed out now even though he _knows_ that’s not how real life works at all.

‘You got a place to stay?’

‘Yeah,’ he lies as he takes one last bite of his food and decides to forego desserts. Maybe he’ll try again next time when it doesn’t feel like he’s encroaching on Bucky and Natasha’s date even though he was here first, but that’s a petty thought.

‘I’ll, uh...maybe I’ll see you around then?’

‘Maybe; New York can be pretty small if you think about it.’

‘Okay,’ Bucky tries to smile as he takes on step backwards. ‘It’s good to see you again, Steve. Merry Christmas.’

‘You, too,’ he returns even though he’s already thinking about how long is a respectable time to stay before paying up and go. Not immediately because that would seem like he’s running away, which he most definitely is, but he doesn’t want to stay too long just in case they feel obligated to share a booth with him because they feel bad.

He eats up what’s left of his food because his ma told him never to waste anything. He finishes up what is his fourth cup of coffee before asking Pamela for the bill. When he gets it, he’s surprised that it’s less than what he tallied up in his head until he notices the discount added at the bottom of the check for veterans.

‘How did you know?’ He asks her even though his tags are hidden under his shirt.

She shrugs, ‘I saw the outline of it when you took off your jacket and I was delivering food to the next table over. Your boots are a little bit of a giveaway, too; they don’t sell those.’

‘Thank you,’ he smiles as he pays to cover the costs of the food and gives her a tip that includes the discounted amount anyway. He’s just about to return the checkbook when a thought occurs to him and he pulls his hand back, ‘Uhm, weird question but have those two ordered yet? The guy sitting with the pregnant lady?’

‘Grilled sandwiches with tomato soup, a t-bone steak dinner, a couple of short stacks, and two glasses of orange juice,’ she recites off the top of her head. Either she’s good at memorizing orders or theirs were memorable enough to stick. He guesses it’s the t-bone steak dinner even though it’s _lunch_.

‘Will this cover it?’ He asks as he slips another couple of notes on top of his payment.

It only takes a blink for her to answer, ‘Honey, that’ll cover it plus tip.’

He chuckles as he closes the book for the final time and slides it over to her. ‘Okay, thanks.’

‘You’re real sweet,’ she smiles softly at him, and there’s something about her that reminds him a little bit of his ma, like in the old photos she showed him of her young self standing next to dad. Her hair was wispy blonde instead of ginger, blue eyes instead of pale green but her freckles were just as numerous and he suddenly misses her with a vicious ache.

‘No, I’m just...’ he shakes his head as he pulls his jacket back on, shouldering his bag and ignoring the look that he knows Bucky is throwing his way. ‘Merry Christmas, Pamela.’

‘You, too.’

He has no choice but to pass Bucky and Natasha’s table on the way out. Steve musters enough cheer to wish them Merry Christmas and say goodbye to them, too, not staying to chat which he only feels marginally guilty about before he’s out the door. If he remembered the address to that room for rent correctly then it’ll only be a thirty minute walk from here, less if he takes the subway but he decides a little walking won’t hurt his feet like it used to. He’s barely two buildings away when he hears Bucky call out his name and the heartache that he thought was at a manageable level before now feels like a stab in his chest but he forces himself to turn around as the brunet jogs to catch up to him.

‘What’s up?’ Steve asks and hopes Pamela hasn’t already told them that their food is paid for.

Bucky huffs a little as he stands a small distance away and runs a nervous hand through his hair. It looks soft without the usual hair products that the brunet liked to use and a part of him wishes he could touch. ‘Natasha and I were talking, and we’d love it if you could be Liliana’s god-uncle.’

He blinks. ‘What?’

‘Liliana’s god-uncle,’ he repeats, unperturbed, ‘The due date’s about a week or so away but Natasha could give birth any time now.

He swallows and fights down the urge to give another one-worded reply as he tries not to panic at the thought of being a god-uncle. He wonders if Bucky is doing this on purpose, if he realizes how hurt he still feels from finding out about Natasha’s pregnancy even though it’s been close to six months ago now. He remembers the letter Bucky wrote him, lying crumpled at the bottom of his duffel bag, that he doesn’t want to lose Steve; wants to keep him in his life, but Steve isn’t sure if he’s recovered enough for that, if he’s capable of being someone who can stick around watching the love of his life with another woman and a child between the two of them. He swallows around the lump in his throat and he watches as Bucky’s expression falls away from hopeful and begging to something a little more broken.

‘Please think about it,’ Bucky pleads as he looks down at the ground between their feet. They’re only a little ways from each other but to Steve it might as well be another ocean between them. He tries to smile but it comes out like a grimace instead. It doesn’t matter; Bucky isn’t looking his way, but he makes himself answer, tells the brunet that he’ll think about it and will let him know.

‘Okay,’ Bucky starts walking backwards to the diner where he left Natasha. ‘I’ll keep in touch, okay?’

‘Okay,’ he repeats and barely lifts his hand up in time for a wave before Bucky is turning around and walking off. He watches him for a while, allows himself a moment to miss him just a little bit before he decides to take the subway after all because he wants a bed to crawl into and sleep the rest of the day away even though it’s barely past one in the afternoon.

He wants this two-week break to be over already.

\--

The lady who owns the building is no-nonsense and straight to the point. It’s a little bit like a motel but acts more like an apartment complex. He agrees to sign a contract and pay one week upfront including bond even though he’ll only be there for two weeks total. The lady doesn’t care, ‘A contract is a contract,’ she says through a Brooklyn accent which makes him feel more at home.

A copy of the contract is given to him along with a set of keys which she warns that if he loses then there goes the bond even though a key would probably only cost a few bucks or so to copy if he were so inclined. He slips it into his wallet instead, tucked tightly between his cards for safekeeping.

When he enters the room he’s greeted by a stale smell which makes him think of laundry that hasn’t been washed in weeks. He can’t help but wrinkle his nose a little bit at this as he switches on the fan in the attached bathroom, hoping that it’ll help to at least ease off the stench. The bed is a generous double but takes up most of the available walking space. There’s a small bedside table next to it which he puts his phone and wallet down on top of and leaves his bag on the floor right next to it.

It’s small and somewhat claustrophobic but he doesn’t need a kitchen with a dining table or a living room with a television in the corner. He figures he’ll be living on takeout while he’s here and if he wants entertainment he can either go out and stretch his legs or just browse through his phone. He can probably live like this indefinitely if need be.

Steve eventually shoulders out of his jacket, toes off his boots and lies back on the bed on top of the covers. He’s drained and he weighs the pro’s and con’s of sleeping now and becoming a night owl, or sucking it up until it’s a reasonable time to actually go to bed so he can counter the jetlag. He slept a little bit on the plane but hardly enough to feel rested.

He contemplates drawing for a little bit but finds he’s not quite motivated enough to get up and find a subject to spend some time on. In the end, he catches up on the current news, wastes some time downloading a couple of games and loses a few hours to the mindless drone of it, yawning every once in a while.

It’s dark by the time he wakes up; he hadn’t meant to doze off but it’s already seven at night so he gets up and thinks about dinner since he hadn’t had a fulfilling lunch. Steve considers going back to the diner again for that hot fudge sundae but he doesn’t want to come off weird for going back twice on the same day.

‘It’s not that weird,’ he tries to convince himself as he slips his shoes back on and pulls the jacket over his shoulders, tucking his wallet and phone back into his pockets before leaving the room, locking the door after himself. It feels so much colder at night and he can’t help the shiver crawling up his spine as he walks briskly to keep himself warm while looking around for a place to eat. He’s not in the mood for walking too far; he just wants to fill his tummy and go back home to sleep.

Eventually, he finds a kebab place that lures him inside with its’ smell and goes to order three of them; one beef, one chicken and one lamb, all to go. He tries a different combination of condiments on all of them and hopes the chilli sauce doesn’t pack too much of a punch. He adds a bottle of water to go with it and two squares of baklava since he skipped out on the hot fudge sundae earlier. It’s piping hot when he gets the bag, the foil doing its damndest to keep the heat inside, the smell tempting him to rip into one before he even makes it a block back.

He doesn’t bother taking off his shoes or jacket or even putting his wallet and phone back onto the table, just sits himself down at the foot of the bed and digs right in. The beef is a little bit dry, but the sauces and vegetables more than make up for it. The same pretty much goes for the rest of them but the spices on the meats leave a really nice aftertaste on his tongue and he finds the mint yogurt to be his favorite condiment after having finished off the lamb kebab with the chili sauce slathered through it.

The water goes down quick and the baklava even quicker. By the fifteen minute mark, he’s happily satisfied and ready to get knocked out into a mini food coma. He brushes his teeth before then, puts his phone on charge and changes into something more comfortable before slipping under the covers and willing his body to relax into sleep and it’s just as easy to doze off now as it was earlier.

Steve wakes up to the sound of someone stomping around upstairs but he’s not sure if it’s just the poor construction of the building itself or just some dick thinking it’s reasonable to be making that kind of noise at five in the morning. 

There’s a niggling part of his brain that tells him it could be a kid being a bit too excited at the new day and he groans, burrowing his head under the pillow to drown out a little of the noise. It stops after a few minutes but by then he’s more or less awake and he figures an early start to the day will eventually lead to an early finish. Two more days like this will probably be more than enough to get him readjusted back to New York time.

He sniffs a little at his long-sleeve shirt and decides it’s clean enough for another two days if he doesn’t end up sweating in them. He pulls it back on over his head, changes into a different pair of pants, trades the old socks for cleaner ones and finishes getting ready to head back out.

It’s early enough that most of the fresh fallen snow hasn’t been trampled into slush yet. There’s a good coating on some of the vehicles at least an inch thick and there’s a giddy part of him that wants to go to the park and make a snow angel now while nobody’s around to watch, still warmly tucked away in their beds. He changes his priorities from finding breakfast to finding a patch of snow and he ends up stopping by a little playground where everything is still untouched by young little hands. He can imagine Bucky and Natasha playing with a faceless little girl on the swings but he quickly turns away from the sight, brushing the thought out of his head as he lays down on a decent bit of flat ground, pushing his arms up and down and his legs in and out. A little laugh escapes him but he doesn’t care as he gets up and looks down at his, admittedly lopsided, snow angel. There’s a bit of ice crawling down the back of his neck but it’s worth it for a little bit of childish fun.

Breakfast is easier to find than the playground and he ends up in a different diner ordering a short stack, a big breakfast platter and another cup of coffee with the unlimited refills. His heart jumps whenever he hears the bell by the door ring, almost expecting Bucky to show up out of nowhere like he did yesterday. Neither of them has ever visited this diner, unlike the other one which has been their favourite since they found it back in their first year of college together, so he feels safe in the knowledge that Bucky won’t appear in front of him after all. Still, it doesn’t stop his heart from skipping whenever he sees a head of shoulder-length brown hair appear in his periphery, be it male or female.

He pays for his breakfast and leaves the diner just as the sky is starting to light up and the street is starting to get a little bit busier. He starts walking with nowhere particular in mind until he spots a delivery truck unloading buckets and buckets of flowers into a tiny shop where there’s a petite little lady, brunette with grey streaks in her hair, manning the counter and talking rapidly into the phone while simultaneously directing where the flowers should go. He keeps out of the way, loitering a little bit outside, because there’s hardly enough walking space in there among all of the buckets while the guy is checking and double-checking his orders before he hands the clipboard over for the lady to sign off on.

After probably five minutes the truck is gone and he cautiously makes his way inside. Even though the sign on the door says open everything about the organization of the place seems like they could do with a little bit more time.

‘Hi, how can I help ya?’ The lady asks as he scribbles down a couple of notes onto a notepad, hair already a slight mess.

‘Are you busy? Because if you are I can come back in a little bit,’ he answers as he gestures a thumb out the door.

‘Got a few orders in but they’re not due for pick-up until the afternoon so you’re good,’ she says as she tucks her pen behind her ear and comes around the counter to start rearranging the buckets around her shop so there’s more walk space, ‘Looking for anything in particular?’

‘Uhm...’ he trails off because he can’t see any sunflowers around but belatedly remembers they’re a summer flower and not a winter one. The purple-blue clusters look nice though, and the lady helpfully tells him they’re cornflowers, pointing the ones next to them as honeyworts. ‘My ma liked sunflowers so I’ve always tried to get her a bouquet whenever I could visit. Can you recommend something for me?’

Her gaze softens as she picks up a bucket and hefts it onto the counter. ‘What about these ones? The gerberas come in lovely vibrant shades of red, orange, pink and yellow. If you’re looking for a substitute for sunflowers then I recommend this,’ she says as she picks up a yellow one and lets him have a closer look.

It’s like holding a miniature version of them and he can’t help smiling as he tells her to put together a dozen of them in whatever arrangement she wants. She returns the smile with one of her own and starts picking up eleven more of the flowers, putting them in a separate bucket as she goes around the shop to grab a few stems of baby’s breath and a handful of ferns. Steve watches her work; putting them together and cutting off the excess stems, tying them off with something that looks like the colour of straw before wrapping them in paper that matches almost the exact same shade as the flowers themselves and finishing it off with a white ribbon.

 _I should’ve given these to her when she was alive_ , he thinks mournfully as he holds the bouquet, fingertip gently touching the soft petals put together by expert hands. He smiles a little crookedly as he pulls out his wallet and asks her how much for the whole thing. She calculates the price, the cost of the twelve gerbera daisies, six baby’s breath and six ferns, adding it together with the wrapping to come up with a total that’s more than justified.

‘Thank you,’ he smiles as he carefully holds the flowers in both hands, worried about dropping or crushing them even as she tells him they’re quite hardy.

‘No problem. If your mum loves sunflowers then she will love the daisies, too.’

‘Yeah, I think so, too.’

When he leaves the shop he contemplates taking the subway and risk being squashed between the morning commuters or taking the long walk to the cemetery. In the end he decides it’s a no-brainer and he walks the couple of miles it takes until he’s standing in front of his ma and pa’s headstone.

The grass is covered in fresh snow and he smiles a little as he brushes them off the headstone, running his fingers over the letters and cleaning them off a little bit until he feels less guilty about being so long between visits.

‘Look, ma, I found winter sunflowers for you,’ he jokes and wishes he could hear her laughter as he sets them neatly in front of her, crouching down to feel closer to her. It’s been a long time and the last thing he talked to her about was his and Bucky’s break-up, feeling the hurt as fresh in his heart as if it were only yesterday.

‘Natasha’s about to give birth; Bucky could call me any second now,’ he says as he pulls out his phone to stare blankly at the dark screen. ‘Did I tell you they were having a baby girl? You’ve always wanted a girl, too,’ he smiles a little ruefully at this before his expression crumples at how much he misses her and how much he wants her around so they could have each other in their lives with whom they can confide in. He wonders if this is how his ma felt whenever she missed her husband, whenever she looked at him and saw Joseph in the lines of their son’s face. ‘I’m sorry, ma,’ he cries, feeling shaky as he lays his hands over the corners of her headstone, leaning forward with the unbearable weight of missing her so fiercely. She’s been gone for almost ten years but it’s still so hard to come to terms with it.

His fingers are numb and his knees ache with how long they’ve been crouched down for. He can’t feel his nose and he can see his breath come out in a thick white plume when it had been barely noticeable before. He almost falls back on his butt with how little feeling he’s got circulating in his legs but he taps them on the ground and shakes them out so he can start making his way out of the cemetery, rubbing his hands and stuffing them into his pockets to keep them warm. He’s not the only one visiting their loved ones and it always hurts to see other people’s emotions raw and out in the open, too, and when he checks his phone he realizes almost two hours have already gone and disappeared on him.

A part of him wonders why he came back to New York for a holiday when he could’ve picked any other location in the world. He could’ve chosen Ireland to expose himself to his ma’s childhood roots, or even London to see if it’s as great as Peggy makes it out to be. Heck, he should’ve gone to New Zealand and spend his two weeks travelling the whole north island, leaving the south for another visit.

 _Next time_ , he promises himself as he dodges the foot traffic and wonders what else he can do in this city he once called his home.

There are a lot of Christmas decorations everywhere, shops all done up in red and green, some in gold and silver, others in shades of blue and white. He wants to wince at the amount of glitter and sparkles the toyshops are covered in and he takes care to avoid the screaming children and their harried parents.

He wonders if he should buy a gift for the baby. He forgot her name already but he knows it sounds like Lily so maybe he can give that to her as a nickname instead, but what does one give to a newborn baby?

Steve slips into a nearby cafe and uses their free wifi to do some research, orders himself a hot mochaccino and a chocolate muffin, warm from the microwave, wasting a good hour away in the far corner table. Apparently swaddling cloths are popular, and so are baby beanies, mittens for their little hands and socks for their little feet. He sees a couple of soft toys that are really cute but a few comments recommend not leaving them in the cot with the babies as they might accidentally suffocate them if they’re not watched. He makes a face at that and closes the tab on cute bunny toys and decides clothes would probably be the best idea; they grow out of them so quick.

Another quick search tells him the best places to go look at baby clothes at a great bargain so he finishes off the muffin in three more bites and swallows down the coffee in two big gulps.

From the outside the shop looks pretty small and inconspicuous but the wallpaper is all done up in neutral colours, all soft pastels and smelling like baby powder. It’s mostly filled with women but there are a couple of men among them looking at dummies and rattlers. He makes it way over to the section where the swaddling cloths are and picks one that is a nice soft purple with pale pink trimming but then he spots the one that has an owl hood on it and he can’t help the little laugh that comes out of him when he sees one with the bunny ears next. He takes all three because he’s pretty sure babies need more than a couple to get by.

Eventually, a shop assistant sidles on right next to him, long brown hair done up in gentle curls, and ask if he needs help looking for anything in particular to which he replies, ‘No, I’m alright, thanks. I’m just buying a couple of things for a friend’s baby,’ he says and is relieved he didn’t stutter over the word friend because he’s not sure what to class Bucky as anymore.

‘If you’re interested, we have a special on sets right now I can show you that includes a beanie, a pair of mittens and a pair of gloves,’ she cajoles, and he wonders if she’s reading his mind or if they’re items that people just naturally default to. ‘They come in four colours and they all have different prints on them,’ she smiles as she starts edging her way over there, one hand pointing it out for him.

The offer tempts him and he follows after her. He listens to her for a while and settles on a set with the giraffe print of them and another that’s a panda. He also declines when she tries to take him over to the soft toys and baby mobiles.

He leaves the shop with a heavy bag full of baby items and it suddenly hits him that he’s already doting on his...god-niece? He doesn’t know the technical term for it but he switches gears until he’s not thinking about babies and starts heading home to drop off his purchases. He figures he’ll give it to them at the hospital when the baby arrives or, if she’s not out by the time he leaves, he’ll drop it off at Bucky and Natasha’s place.

Bucky must’ve sold their old apartment; it would’ve been too small for a baby. It only had room for two people and even then, whenever he was back home to spend time with Bucky, it would get cramped between the two of them. The baby should have a room of their own, with their own toys and their own cupboard and their own cot. He wasn’t kidding when he thought Bucky would be a good dad; Steve already knows he’ll spoil his kid rotten.

He’s almost home when his phone chimes, except it doesn’t stop and it takes him a while to realize it’s ringing and there’s only one reason why it would go off as he quickly pulls his phone out and answers it.

‘I’m a dad,’ Bucky is saying breathlessly, his phone picking it up as static.

‘She’s...?’

‘Yeah,’ he laughs a little hysterically, ‘the labour took fucking hours but Natasha’s alright and so is the baby. She _wailed_ as soon as she got out and they say she’s got a healthy set of lungs. Shit, Steve.’

‘You okay?’ He asks because Bucky sounds a little too keyed up, a little too shaky and he wonders how long the labour really lasted for – a couple of hours? Six? More? He winces a little at the thought of Natasha trying to push out a baby for that long.

‘Are you coming by? Can you please come over?’

Steve squeezes his eyes shut and finds he can’t deny Bucky; has always been a little bit weak for him, and he tells him he’ll be there soon, raising a hand to hail a taxi he can see coming up the street. Neither of them hang up their phones the entire way and it’s only when he reaches the hospital, makes his way to the maternity ward and turns the corner to see Bucky sitting on the floor in borrowed scrubs with his legs splayed that he almost drops his phone.

‘Bucky?’

The brunet drags his head up from staring at the ground and he looks _shattered_ and revitalised at the same time. He staggers to his feet towards Steve and folds his arms around him, holding on for dear life like he can barely stand. Steve keeps them both upright and there’s a part of him that’s thankful for the touch and another that worries about having his heart breaking again but he forces them aside; for however long he can, he’ll be here for Bucky.

‘I told her not to eat the hot sauce but _no_ , she wouldn’t listen to me,’ he hoots out a tired laugh while Steve manoeuvres them around to the visitors’ chairs.

Steve wrinkles his nose at him as he rubs a hand along Bucky’s back consolingly. ‘That’s not real, is it?’

‘It’s all over the internet. Apparently pineapple and eggplant could induce labour, too.’

‘What?’

‘Might be to do with the enzymes in the pineapple but I have no idea what the fuck is up with the eggplant,’ he mumbles mostly to himself, looking like he’s about to droop right off in the middle of the visitors’ area and Steve has to shake him a little bit to get his attention.

‘Come on, you guys should have a room, right? Why don’t we go and visit them? I bought some stuff for Lily.’

Bucky looks down at the bag by his feet for the first time, perks up a little and a soft smile spreads across his face as he looks over at Steve, ‘Wow, thanks. We really appreciate it.’

He shrugs a little self-consciously as he helps Bucky up and takes the bag with him, avoiding his eyes and feeling guilty. ‘You haven’t even looked at them, yet.’

‘No, but baby stuff is crazy expensive,’ Bucky sighs as he leads them through the double doors and down a corridor, pausing at a junction for a little bit in thought before picking a direction and going with it. It doesn’t take long until they’re standing in front of a door with a name card for Barnes-Romanoff.

Bucky goes in right away but Steve knocks lightly on the door before stepping into the semi-dark room. Natasha is lying on her side, the baby cot right next to her and Bucky stands in front of them both, leaning over the baby to smile down at her all bundled up.

Natasha is smiling at the two of them, looking tired and just about ready to fall asleep herself. She greets Steve with a quiet, “ _Hi_ ” and all he can do is give a little wave as he gently sets the bag in the corner of the room where a suitcase is tucked away.

‘Thanks for coming by,’ she sighs as she watches Bucky pick up the baby expertly and coo at her in his arms, swaying gently in a rhythm that only the brunet can hear as the little girl makes noises right along with him.

‘No—no problem. I uh...I got some things for the baby,’ he coughs and stutters through his sentences, feeling awkward because he still doesn’t quite know what to think of Natasha. He’d previously only known her as Bucky’s college friend but obviously they must be partners now. ‘Just some stuff I thought might come in handy.’

‘That’s really thoughtful of you,’ she says as her eyes flutter shut. She looks bone-tired and he thinks she could really do with some sleep and food that’s better than what the hospital can provide.

‘Here, hold her,’ Bucky is saying suddenly and Steve can’t help but backpedal a little bit.

‘Oh my god, don’t give her to me. Are you crazy?’ Steve hisses at Bucky who promptly ignores him and teaches him how to cradle the baby’s neck to support it using the crook of his elbow. She’s small, barely more than the length of his hand from the tip of his longest finger to the start of his wrist.

‘Have you thought about it?’ Natasha asks him while he panics a little bit over the tiny little baby in his huge lumberjack arms. He thought the red-head was already asleep but he guesses she’s just resting her eyes.

His mind blanks a little as the girl stares up at him guilelessly, making noises and yawning wide with her gummy mouth. He chuckles a little at the miracle in his arms and wonders if this is what his ma felt like when she held him for the first time, barely bigger than this little girl now. He wonders if it’s like riding a bike for Bucky again, having looked after his baby sisters when he was younger.

It’s not that he’s never wanted kids, they simply weren’t in his immediate future but with Bucky now out of the picture, well...he guesses he can deal with being a god-uncle.

‘Yeah,’ he smiles as he touches her baby-soft chin and her baby-soft cheeks. ‘I guess I just got myself a god-niece.’

He loses track of how long he holds the baby for but by the time he comes out of staring at the little girl in wonder, Natasha is sleeping and Bucky’s slouched over the seat, his neck held at an uncomfortable angle and snoring quietly. He takes the last available seat next to the cot, careful to keep the precious load balanced in his arms.

There’s a little bit of Natasha in her button nose and he thinks he can spot Bucky’s mouth shape on her, too. He thinks it’s a mixture of weird and amazing that two people can get together and have a baby that is basically a genetic copy of the two of them.

So crazy, but he guesses that’s the miracle of childbirth.

She falls asleep in his arms and he’s content to simply watch her and hold her, knowing that in less than two weeks he won’t be seeing her again anytime soon.

\--

 


	17. Chapter 17

He makes Captain at 26; his quick-thinking, fast-working and team contributions during several missions to give him the best possible results with the least number of casualties afforded him the opportunity to become a leader of his own team. They tell him he can choose whoever he wants, within reason, and as long as they’re justified, then there should be no reason why he’d be denied.

Steve doesn’t think he deserves it; there are other men better suited to this position and better qualified. He’s only been in the army for four years while others have been here for almost a decade. Just because he’s a super-soldier doesn’t mean he should be treated differently, doesn’t mean he should be subjected with nepotism – he wants fairness and equality, not to be given whatever he wants on a silver platter.

‘If they know what’s good for ‘em then they know it’s not a race,’ Phillips tells him as he stands up from behind his desk, rounds the table and lands a hand on his shoulder, giving him a hard shake. ‘It’s about initiative, and it’s about seeing who’s better at following and who’s better at leading. You, kid, are a leader.’

Peggy shakes her head, standing up next to Phillips to look Steve in the eye. ‘This was always supposed to happen. Granted, we didn’t expect it to happen quite this quickly but you’re more than qualified for this position. We are not the sort to pander to you through lying.’

He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized was shaking away in his lungs and he thinks it through, knowing they’re right because for all that he is the one and only super-soldier they also don’t let him get away with any crap. He’s treated like any of the other men on the base; he has kitchen duty, he has convoy duty, he gets told to clean the communal bathrooms with a toothbrush if he’s one toe outta line. He may be different to the other men around but he’s never treated as such because of it.

In the end he nods and already has a few ideas about the kind of men he wants in his own team. They give him a couple of days to think it through but he figures he’ll only need until the end of the day to really finalize everything.

His friends find him by the bunk beds, sitting with his back supported by a pillow and his ankles crossed in front of him. They don’t notice the new insignia at first and Steve’s not about to point it out to them as Jim talks to them about his little girl that he just finished talking to back home via skype and shows them a picture of her with her dark eyes, jet-black hair, open-mouthed smile and missing front tooth.

They do this every week, after every mission; talking about their loved ones and reaffirming that they’re doing the right thing by being here, protecting the people they care about by striving to make the world a better place for their future generations to live in. It’s hard work, but like the saying goes, “ _nothing worth having comes easy_ ”. They share pictures and give updates on each others’ families and it always makes Steve feel included to be given into these moments.

Steve almost forgets about his promotion until Dum Dum swears and points it out.

‘Shit, son. They made you Captain?’ he asks in awe as he pokes at the new insignia on his uniform.

James whistles as he nudges Gabe, ‘Better you than me. As much as I’d like the title, I don’t think I can handle the responsibility of having men die under my watch.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ Steve says with a roll of his eyes while the guys kid around and congratulate him on his promotion.

‘So, what does it mean? Are you being stationed somewhere else? Are you moving to a different platoon?’ Jacques asks as he pulls out the toothpick he’d been chewing. He’s trying to give up smoking but more often than not, he only lasts a couple of days before he jumps right back onto the bandwagon.

‘I’m not going anywhere, but they gave me the option of working with a different team.’

Dum Dum’s face falls a little bit but he still musters up a smile and gives him a pat on the shoulder. ‘You deserve it. Hell, if it hadn’t been for you, Hodge’s would probably be missing more than just his damn pride.’

They laugh and then Jim tries his best to imitate the wailing the other man made when a nearby controlled blast to fell over a building for safety reasons sent a black plastic bag flying into his face, his voice screaming, “ _I’m fucking blind!_ ”

‘So,’ Dum Dum steers them back on topic, ‘what kinda team are you gonna be working with?’

He can tell they’re just about holding their breaths waiting for his answer and he can’t hold back the smile as he tells them, ‘Well, I’m looking at them right now.’

Gabe’s mouth drops open as his hand shoots out to grab James on the shoulder, pushing and pulling as he does a little jig. ‘Seriously? For reals?’

Steve laughs. ‘Yeah, for reals. I can pick whoever as long as I can justify it and I can’t see a better team at my back than the men I’ve grown to trust with my life.’

Jacques looks away, sniffing suspiciously while Jim pulls Steve in for a hug and it doesn’t take long before they’re all grabbing onto each other and making a raucous amount of noise in celebration.

‘I’m thinking of asking Sam Wilson and Riley Davis as well,’ he tells them once they all settle down.

The two guys arrived at the same time at Jim some time last year. He gets along well enough with the two of them despite having only worked together a handful of times during the more high-stakes missions where they both doubled up as medic personnel and air support.

‘They’re para-rescue, right? Aren’t they a part of that Avengers Initiative thing the brass has got going on?’ Dum Dum asks as he scratches a finger at his moustache, straightening it out and twirling the ends once he’s done.

‘Yeah, they look very elite,’ James sighs a little in awe. ‘Were you aware that Margaret’s cousin is a part of it? Those Carters are a league of their own.’

Gabe snickers and starts comparing the muscle masses of Steve and one of the other Avengers, Thor Odinson. ‘Man, he looks like he could give you a run for your money.’

‘He looks like he lives and breathes the gym,’ Jim says through a wide-eyed stare, looking a little lost in his head, ‘I don’t know how anybody could get that buff in real life outside of those guys who compete in the muscle contest you see on TV.’

‘Hey, hey, unlike those guys I actually use my muscles,’ Steve cuts in which makes the boys start ragging on him. The conversation devolves from there but he makes a mental note to seek out Sam and Riley later during dinner if he can.

He’s not sure what their future is gonna shape up to be but he hopes it looks good, hopes they’ll be just fine.

\--

In the end it turns out he worried needlessly; Peggy and Phillips was right – he is a leader, and he handles the new role given to him flawlessly with his team: The Howling Commandos.

\--

Sam Wilson is reserved at first, quiet and observant while Riley Davis is the opposite, quick to warm up to and easy to converse with but it’s not long before the both of them become fixtures of the team, going along with them on most of their missions even while they remain, first and foremost, part of the Avengers crew. Sometimes the stakes are high enough that both teams are required to join forces, tasked to keep the situation from escalating and from endangering more civilians within a not inconsiderable territory.

Before, during and after these missions Steve finds out a little bit more about the crew that make up the Avengers whose CO is a dark-skinned man with an eye-patch that doesn’t do much to cover the scars around his left eye. He also learns that Sharon Carter is just as sharp and witty as her cousin, Peggy, and it’s almost like they could be twins if not for the stark differences in their outwardly appearances. It’s interesting, though, because he’s never heard Peggy talk about her cousin or hang out with her. He wonders if it’s to do with military hierarchy or just because they’re involved in different departments and he supposes that makes sense in a way; he never would’ve found reason to speak to Sam and Riley if not for the fact that he is now a Captain.

Maria Hill is similar to Sam but while he eventually loosens up after being exposed to them long enough, she remains coolly aloof and serious. Everything about her screams order; her hair is always pulled back and away from her face, her uniform is always clean and neat and her guns well cared for and well loved. Sometimes he catches her frowning at the antics of his team but Sam tells him it’s because they’re guys; they’re allowed to slack off and do whatever they want but for women, for her it’s harder, and she will do everything in her power to ensure that she remains professional.

It makes him a little sad that she won’t allow herself to relax but he hopes that they’ll become close enough one day to see her smile.

Thor Odinson is a large man who looks stern but has a wide smile and an easygoing personality. His hair is trimmed and neat, although it looks as if he’s growing it out a little. His voice is far-reaching, his laugh boisterous and he is attentive when spoken to, looking as if he is absorbed in every word. Despite his size he is gentle with his hands and he speaks fondly of his dearest Jane currently studying the skies near the coast of Scotland.

If it weren’t for the fact that he’s worked with all of the Avengers before he would’ve assumed Clint Barton to be another fresh recruit that was just recently posted here. He complains about the weather, whines at the lack of pizza, and behaves lazily whenever they’re not on mission. That personality, however, is switched out with a level of efficiency and a seriousness that is on par with Maria Hill whenever they’re on mission from start to finish but as soon as he’s off the clock then he’s back to finding a nice shaded area and to talk to anybody willing to listen how much he misses eating pizza.

Scott Lang looks like he could be Clint Barton’s brother from another mother. They’re similar in the sense that they’re almost uncharacteristically clumsy around the base, crashing into things and bumping their noses and skinning their knees. Despite all of this, he’s good with his hands and is always thinking outside the box, offering insight that most people wouldn’t consider because he doesn’t always think in a linear path. His suggestions might often be a little bit left field but more often than not, they _work_.

All of them together are an odd bunch but they _work_. 

Despite the many assignments they’ve all completed together, it’s only Clint Barton who seamlessly fits himself into the group outside of missions just because he wants to. The sandy-haired blond says it’s because Maria and Sharon are more concerned about their jobs than trying to have a little fun in this desert wasteland, Thor rhapsodizes too much about Jane, and Scott does the same for his daughter.

‘Sam and Riley are the only sane ones of the group and you pretty much stole them from right under our noses.’

‘Did not.’ Steve denies but doesn’t put up too much of a fight because, well, Clint’s not entirely wrong either.

\--

He knows what they look like, but he also knows it looks worse than it actually is; most of them are just covered in sweat and dust. He’s got blood on him but it’s not his – if it hadn’t been for Dum Dum he would’ve taken a knife to the back but he feels sick at the thought of being covered in someone else’s blood, that someone was killed so he could live to see another day. He thinks he can feel their still-warm blood seeping through his uniform and sliding down the back of his neck but it’s just his sweat. Just his sweat tinted red.

Steve pulls away from the group as soon as they’ve finished their debrief, sequesters himself a little space between two cargo boxes and tucks himself in between them, tries to remember how to breath and how to accept the life that he still has and how much therapy he’s gonna need for this.

There are grains of sand and caked dirt under his nails so he busies himself with cleaning it out, regulating his breathing as he does so. He feels better here, in this small and dark space; makes him remember what it’s like to be _that_ Steve, the one that worried about improving his portfolio rather than fighting a war.

‘You sound like a bull in heat.’

Steve looks up and sees Tony sitting near the corner of the box above him, drinking straight from a flask and looking like he hasn’t had enough sleep in the last month. He looks away and goes back to picking his nails, breathing quietly through his nose in hopes that he can be forgotten for a little bit longer. He’s too tired to deal with Tony and it’s time like these that makes him wish he still had a home to go back to.

Something thunks on top of his knee, a flask, and he’s thankful he still has the guards on otherwise it might’ve hurt. He picks it up from where it slid onto his lap and looks up at Tony whom is still drinking like whatever’s inside is made of water.

‘I can’t get drunk.’

He doesn’t have to shake it to know it’s full and it’s a nice gesture, feels like the first step to sorting out whatever it is that's happening between them. Maybe this is Tony trying.

‘What, not good enough for your refined tastes?’

Or not.

He unscrews the cap anyway and takes a small sip, lets the alcohol sit on his tongue and slowly, slowly burn its way down his throat. It feels nice, feels like a distraction. It’s nothing like he’s ever tasted but then again; he’s never had the inclination to drink over-expensive beverages that is akin to bleach.

‘Pep would like you,’ Tony says offhandedly, not quite a conversation starter as it is more of a filler. ‘She already does from all the complaining I’ve been doing about you so God forbid you two ever meet,’ he mutters to himself, snorting a little before going back to his drink.

‘Thank you,’ Steve says as he returns the empty flask, trying to read what’s in the other’s eyes.

‘You owe me,’ he takes it without looking his way and makes off as if he was never there.

The next time he sees Tony they’re back to biting remarks and snappy retorts. Steve wonders if he actually imagined that whole encounter back in the cargo bay, delirious after completing a mission. But then he finds a new bottle of bourbon sitting on top of his pillow along with a note saying: “ _My dad didn’t die so you could. Don’t you fucking waste it._ ”

He saves the bottle for another time but tucks the note into his journal; proof that Tony does care even if it’s in a roundabout way.

\--

Sam lets him know a month in advance that he’ll be going back to Washington to visit his mama and pops, his brothers and sisters, his grandparents and his many cousins.

Steve whistles, ‘Wow, that’s quite a family you got there. Must be nice.’

He shrugs but there’s a smile on his face anyway like he can’t really hide his fondness for them. ‘Sure. I mean, family is family, you know? Even if you lose friends or you lose lovers you can still fall back on your flesh and blood.’

He nods, and wishes he had the kind of family Sam does. To live in a house filled to the brim and to wake up with noise and _life_. He’s been without his ma for ten years now and without Bucky to call his own for two years. It’s hard not to dwell on the things he’s lost and he thinks something on his face must’ve been obvious to Sam as the other reaches out a hand to land gently on his shoulder.

‘You know they say that blood is thicker than water but water runs deeper, or something like that, I forget. What I mean is; you’re not alone.’

He smiles a little crookedly at him. ‘Thanks, Sam. I appreciate it.’

Brown eyes stare into his for a moment, searching for something, but it doesn’t take long for Sam to nod and tell him, ‘Have you ever tried visiting the VA whenever you head back home? It’s a good way to realize you’re not the only one trying to fight enemies both in the world and inside yourself.’

Steve shakes his head; he’s never considered it, has only vaguely heard about it but mostly tunes it out with an excuse that he’s not that bad off, that he can still deal with it, that he’s young enough that he can bounce back without too much of a problem if need be, but he’s 26-years old and feels so much older than his years tell him, has seen things that he never thought he’d ever see, has fired a bullet and has killed and has saved in equal measure. He doesn’t like to think about it but he can tell he’s gone on long enough ignoring his growing pile of issues.

‘Maybe I’ll go back to Washington with you one day,’ he says, feeling simultaneously shy and hopeful and anxious. ‘Go to a few sessions to see if it’s right for me.’

Sam grins at his suggestion and nods his head like he’s all for it. He then proceeds to tell Steve to try and get his leave at the same time as him because who knows if they’ll be lucky enough to sync up their holidays together in the near future.

He goes off quick looking for Phillips and finds him talking to Tony Stark in his office. He doesn’t bother to stay, just asks for Peggy and is directed to her own office and he runs off before he comes to blows with the dark-haired man. He’d tried with Tony Stark but they just rub each other the wrong way, like two tectonic plates going at odds with one another, making earthquakes whenever they got too close.

When he finds Peggy and tells him he’s interested in taking leave she looks at him in surprise, eyes a little wide and a little curve on her lips.

‘What’s the look for?’

‘Usually we have to _force_ you to take leave but I’m glad you’re choosing to find some time for yourself. You’re due for a little vacation time, anyway,’ she smiles as he looks through her drawers and pulls out a form, handing it over for him to fill. ‘Get this sorted now and I’ll do my best to push your request through by the end of the day.’

‘Thanks, Peggy,’ he grins as he borrows a pen and starts filling it out, feeling anticipation run through his veins at the thought of going back to America. He hasn’t felt this hopeful and excited in a long time. Maybe this is him beginning to heal, this is him trying to do something for himself again, and it feels liberating.

\--

Steve doesn’t realize the Washington Sam means isn’t actually the state but D.C. They’re just four and a half hours away from Bucky’s family; so close yet so far, and a part of him yearns to be closer while wishing to be on the other side of the country. He doesn’t bring it up, though, and let’s himself get absorbed into the VA sessions which Sam attends as a speaker and even leads a few of his own. Steve feels a little bit duped but he knows Sam’s a well-meaning kind of guy whose agenda is only for the betterment of his friends.

‘I think I’ll come back here once I retire out of the service,’ Sam tells him over cafeteria lunch after a two hour session.

Steve nods; he can see Sam doing well in this environment, can see him helping a lot of people.

He thinks Peggy and Phillips was a little bit wrong about him; he might be a good leader when it comes to war, but it’s people like Sam who help pick up the pieces to repair and rebuild on an emotional and spiritual level who are the true heroes. It feels right this way, to entrust the healing of his battered mind to a kindred soul after all the fighting is over.

\--

Sometimes he’s hit with the feeling of missing Bucky so much that he forgets why they broke up in the first place but then he sees the photos he’s amassing in his gallery of Lily growing up and he remembers all over again. There’s a part of him that will always be a little sour about the way they ended things but it softens whenever he looks at the tufts of baby hair on her head and the love that is so obviously on Bucky’s face whenever he is in close proximity to his daughter that Steve can never fully regret the things that happened between them. After all, it allowed Liliana to be born and he’s thankful for the little wonder that she is.

He’s trying to be more open to communications with Bucky and Natasha but sometimes he reverts back to sending single emoticons and not much else. Bucky learns not to push, except when it comes to sending more pictures of Lily in an attempt to break the ice building up between them.

Steve thinks about them now as he ducks for cover behind a rundown wall, the building already torn apart in a previous skirmish. He can hear people shouting, can recognize the sound of the jets as Sam and Riley provide support from overhead. There’s a boom of an explosion that echoes in the air and shakes him down to his marrow and he makes himself take two deep breaths and hold it as he tries to see where the rest of his team are.

It feels like forever – such a cliché – but is probably just a couple of hours. He makes sure everybody is fine first before he asks Sam and Riley to keep a watch on them while they split into two groups of three’s to check out the rest of the area. For the most part it seems as though the chaos has been subdued but they remain vigilant and ever-careful as they make their way across the small town where a rebel sect had taken over, forcing out the inhabitants and killing those that resist for their own agenda.

There are dust-covered bodies that Steve skirts his eyes over, dried blood on the ground. There are some that look like fathers, like brothers, like sons and children. He thinks it’s cruel of men to force a child to hold a gun, to teach them death before they learned what life is, to make them want to die because anything and everything else seemed too impossible to believe. He closes the eyes of a little boy, barely in his teens, and prays in a way he has only picked up again recently.

A part of him wonders if his ma in Heaven will teach the people he killed love and compassion and mercy. He wonders if they can be forgiven.

It’s days like this, bone dry and scorching heat, that makes him think, “ _Maybe I’m in Hell._ ”

\--

He doesn’t argue when they ask him to take leave again barely three months after his last one. They can tell that he looks exhausted, that he’s being wrung dry and pushed forward and ahead until he’s standing at the very precipice. He’s tempted to fall, to let go, but it’s a dangerous thought to be having so he lets the thought of Liliana and his friends counter the balance, to make sure he takes two steps back until he stands firmly away from the edge.

Riley has a house in New York that he doesn’t mind lending to Steve. He feels bad about it but Riley just tells him not to worry about it.

‘Look, the house is probably a mess from the last group of people that rented it out for a little bit. You’d be doing me a favour by checking it up for me, seriously,’ he practically begs as he makes Steve take the keys before he goes along with an updated address book and contact detail.

He wasn’t kidding, either. The fridge smells like rats, the rubbish hasn’t been fully cleared out, the toilet bowl is _disgusting_ and he doesn’t even wanna know what was last in the microwave. He sends a few pictures of the place to Riley who actually calls up to scream at the state of his home.

‘Those little shits!’ He swears vehemently. ‘See if I let my brother and his frat boys stay and party at my house ever again!’

Steve rolls his eyes and is thankful he doesn’t have any younger siblings even though he’d been wishing for them when he stayed with Sam and his family back in D.C. Funny how that turns around real quick. He tells Riley to get back to work before hanging up and setting up his playlist to play on shuffle, mentally laying out his plan of attack.

He tackles the kitchen first; ties a t-shirt over his nose and mouth as he clears everything out of the fridge. Even the butter and jam has mold growing on them and it grosses him out, almost makes him retch a little bit as he chucks them out into a black rubbish bag. He washes the shelves and vegetable boxes with concentrated dishwasher liquid three times and cleans the inside of the fridge with bleach first and soapy water next, wiping it down with wet wipes four times before he feels safe about putting anything fresh in there. One look at the freezer tells him it’s still okay with just a moderate icing problem that a little chipping away at can’t fix.

There was a trick with cleaning a microwave that he learnt from his ma a long way back. He remembers her using a small lemon and a cup of water but since there isn’t any in the house he figures white vinegar would be a good enough substitute.

While he leaves the microwave to do its’ thing he moves on to the bathroom. He knows he was never this disgusting when he was younger so he finds it a little hard to believe that some people would think it’s okay to leave the house that’s not even their own in such a sorry state. He shakes his head, empties it out except for the music playing from his phone and gets to work.

By the end of the day everything is more or less clean. He sends another update to Riley, orders pizza, takes a shower while he’s waiting for it and zones out on the couch waiting for his dinner to arrive.

He’s five slices in when Riley calls him to shout into his ear, ‘My house is beautiful again!’

Steve laughs and feels the same level of satisfaction cleaning the house as he did when completing a mission. Maybe more so because the only warfare he had was against the growing bacterial colony that founds its’ home in the nooks and crannies of the living spaces in Riley’s home.

‘Seriously, seriously. I couldn’t stop thinking about it _all day_ —’

‘Wouldn’t shut up about either!’ Sam shouts from somewhere in the background.

‘—and I called up my brother and pretty much told him that he can forget about getting the bond back and he’ll be paying extra because he damn well done fucked. Anyway, seriously, thanks a lot, man.’

‘No problem,’ he smiles and lets the satisfaction of a job well done wash over him.

Steve spares a thought for Bucky and lets him know via text he’s in the country as he’s getting ready for bed. He’ll make time to visit them in the next couple of days when he’s more visibly rested and less, as Peggy likes to point out, haunted.

He falls asleep on the couch because none of the bedrooms have been cleared out yet and he doesn’t fancy lying around on bed sheets that haven’t seen a washing machine in who knows how long. And knowing college boys, they probably romped around in the sheets and just... _no_.

\--

 


	18. Chapter 18

His ears are ringing and it feels as if his brain is shaking apart in his skull as he looks around and sees Jim running towards him from a hundred yards away. He feels more than he sees when Riley lands right behind him, his feet landing hard on the packed dirt that travels from the ground and shakes him all the way up to his head. He can see his lips moving, can tell he’s shouting but all Steve can hear is that incessant ringing and nothing else, not even the din of gunfire or more explosions in the background.

Jim appears next to him and starts bodily pulling him away from the fray, Riley holding onto his other arm to help and the three of them ducking out of sight. Steve tries to resist; the fight’s not over yet, but he’s still disoriented from the blast and he can feel something trickling down his neck that doesn’t feel at all like sweat, too thick and sticky. He wonders if he got hit, wonders if the adrenaline in his veins is holding off all his pain receptors, wonder if it looks as bad as it feels because Jim’s face is too pale and Steve can see the whites around his eyes as they sit him down at a spot maybe far enough away from the mayhem that they can give him medical help.

Riley is talking to him again but all he can do is shake his head and tell him he can’t hear a word he’s saying. He shouts a little louder, can feel his throat working but nothing else; he can’t even hear his own words echo back in his head – did he lose his voice, too?

Steve watches them exchange worried glances with each other before Jim is shaking his head and pulling Steve back up to his feet. More words are spoken between the two of them before Riley takes back to the sky while Jim talks into his radio while leading Steve out to where their transportation is waiting for them. He struggles a little bit, worried because he’s never pulled out of a mission before it’s finished, not even when he got shot in the shoulder that one time over a year ago and kept going anyway, but Jim stops him with firm grip and an angry look, enough to make Steve yield. Jim’s a field medic; he knows when someone needs to pull out before they die of stupidity.

Jim drops him off at the helicopter, shouts something at the pilot while gesturing at the blades for takeoff. He straps Steve in and hops back out, hitting the body of the rotor-craft to signal the ready. Helpless, Steve watches as the ground slips away from under his feet and Jim is just a harsh dot in the sand. As soon as the helicopter turns to make their way back to base he loses sight of them.

He worries and prays that they’ll be alright, feels like a failure for leaving his team behind and useless for being alive while everybody else is fighting for their lives.

Steve touches the side of his neck and his fingers come away coated in sand-crusted blood.

\--

They tell him that he’s lost his hearing on the left side and about 80% on his right. Well, they didn’t _tell_ him, they wrote it down for him. The doctors aren’t sure if he’ll make a full recovery but they’re confident that with the super-soldier serum in his bloodstream he’ll regain enough to go back to active duty with hearing aids if he chooses to.

He guesses he must’ve been bleeding out of his ears; no wonder Jim had looked the way he did when they were trying to pull him out of the line of fire.

That _really sucks_ though, because he thought he wouldn’t have to use hearing aids ever again for the rest of his life, and now barely six years going without it he might have to return to using them again. _It sucks_.

Peggy’s got her arms crossed in front of her chest and she looks angry in a way he’s only ever seen on her face whenever she’s dealing with stupid men that think she doesn’t know how to do her job properly just because she’s a woman. To see that look being directed at him makes him feel a little bit cowed.

Bruce Banner, whom he’s only ever seen occasionally since their first meeting alongside Abraham and Howard, tells Peggy his best diagnosis of the situation, even including Steve as he hands a chart over to him pointing out his recovery rate from the last blood sample they took from him roughly eight months ago. He doesn’t understand half of the stuff but he gets enough to know that the serum is still going strong and Bruce seems cautiously optimistic about them being able to see signs of healing within the next week if not in the next few days.

Steve can see her lips moving although her eyes are firmly fixed on him in a way that makes him feel like he’s being scolded even though he can barely hear more than a constant ringing and a faint echoing of noise. Bruce nods at whatever she’s saying, takes back the clipboard from him and turns a couple of pages over before giving it to her. It takes her a while before she drags her eyes away to look down at whatever it is the brunet is pointing out on the paper. He really can’t hear what they’re talking about and they’re probably using lingo he’s not used to because he can’t even lip-read whatever it is they’re saying. It’s been too long since he last practiced it, not that he ever really got that far.

Eventually, they leave the room still speaking to one another over the clipboard in Peggy’s hand. Steve is tempted to leave as well, just like he did after they stitched his shoulder up from the bullet wound, but he doesn’t think he can get very far with only 20% hearing on his right ear while the rest of his head is just...static at best. He also doesn’t want to suffer under Peggy’s wrath, either. He’s seen her right hook and he has no doubt it would bruise more than just his face. So he sits and waits.

He’s in a clean pair of scrubs but his skin feels dirty, his head is pounding and he kind of wants to take a long shower and just stay there until he feels better about today’s mission. He hopes the others are okay. The ringing is annoying him and fuelling the headache that’s slowly gaining momentum. He doesn’t feel physically hurt, just a little bit more bone-tired than usual.

A dark shape appears in his peripheral vision and he turns to see Clint leaning on the door jamb, looking dusty and tired and with a fresh bandage wrapped around his forearm, the only part of his body that’s clean while the rest of him looks like he just rolled around in the sand just for kicks. He raises a hand in a wave and then starts giving slow hand gestures that take Steve only a few seconds to translate in his head to mean; _You okay?_

Clumsily, because it’s been a while, he makes the correct shape with his hands to ask, _How did you know?_

Clint shrugs as he fully comes into the room, dragging a chair from the wall closer until he’s right next to Steve’s bed. _Riley told me. Said you were bleeding out of your ears. I guessed._

And it’s only now that he notices the flesh-coloured hearing aid in Clint’s right ear and he wonders how long he’s had it for or if it’s just a recent addition from the last couple of missions. He points at it and wiggles a question mark into the air.

Clint takes it out and switches the device off, tucking it into one of the small compartments of his uniform before answering. _Only during missions. I can hear fine without it but I’m not taking risks._

Steve nods and hopes he’ll recover to that stage, either to the point where he doesn’t need it at all, or just for the safety of himself and other people during missions where clear communication is key to ensuring their lives. He never knew Clint had learned sign language, thinks they could’ve had some pretty fun conversations making everybody think they’re gossiping about them when they’re probably just talking about pizza toppings. He smiles as he signs this to Clint and watches the man throw his head back in a full-bodied, open-mouthed laugh.

_Can’t wait for that._

Phillips comes into the room then, and Steve doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that Peggy isn’t with him as the older man looks at him with something that looks like a tired and disappointed father might. Steve feels guilty but at the same time, if he could’ve avoided getting into this situation he would’ve done everything in his power to. There’s a part of him that’s thankful it’s him and not one of the other guys; he’s got a decent chance at recovery – anybody else might’ve received an honorable discharge.

The old man has a clipboard with him which he hands over to Steve to have a look at and it doesn’t take much for him to guess that it’s an application form for him to take an indefinite leave of absence. He holds back a sigh as he unclips the pen and starts filling it in without complaint; he knows when to throw in the towel.

It would’ve been dangerous to hang around when he can’t even hear his surroundings. He doesn’t want to imagine something happening in the other direction and he’s facing the wrong way, he’d be a sitting duck and an easy target; he doesn’t want to be the reason someone gets hurt because he put his pride over his own safety.

Steve hands it back when he’s signed and dated the bottom of the page and Phillips nods at him, lays a firm hand on his shoulder and gives him a reassuring squeeze, a silent: “ _Get well soon, kid._ ”

He smiles and salutes him as he leaves, knows without a doubt that Phillips will probably ship him off back to the states whether or not he’s ready for it.

Clint stays a while to keep him company, giving him some practice with his neglected sign language, but leaves when Bruce comes back into the room to give them some privacy. The brunet writes to him that he’d like for Steve to stay the night so they can observe him as well as proceed with another test in the morning once he’s rested.

It’s odd – he might be technically deaf for the moment but he can still hear gunshots and explosions and the rumbling of a vehicle playing out in his head, interlaced with a ringing siren that leaves him more unnerved than the sound of war. Maybe it’s the possibility of nothingness, the tinny sound of silence that leaves him dazed and disoriented.

It’s better in the morning, he can hear people muffling words at him but it’s like listening to people talk while he’s wearing earmuffs underwater; indiscernible.

When Bruce writes that he’s going to be informing his emergency contact, Steve rushes to tell him no; that he’ll do it himself since he’ll be heading back anyway. The brunet looks at him over his glasses but eventually nods and allows it.

In the end, he doesn’t actually breathe a word about it to Bucky.

\--

It’s a lot harder to live in the city without sound to guide him and he decides to play it safe the first few days by staying indoors at a hotel where he can order room service via texting and watch TV with the closed-captions on so he can slowly learn how to lip-read properly. He relies a lot on his other senses and finds his eyes getting tired from concentrating so hard on the screen, a slow headache building up.

The quiet is unnatural in a city so dominated by noise. He knows there are signs of life all around him but all he can hear is a low-level siren and a weird muffling sound playing at his eardrums. It’s only been four days total of his leave and he barely picks up the _thump-thump-thump_ that lets him know his food has arrived. A look through the peephole confirms it and he’s surprised when the hotel staff, someone that looks like they’re of similar age, signs to him that his meal is ready.

 _Thank you_ , he returns as he tips the man more than usual and accepts the food cart, pleased by the service.

Steve had mentioned that he’s recovering from a work accident, is partially deaf because of it, to the receptionists upon arriving at the hotel half a week ago. They smiled and nodded, wrote everything he needed to know down on a pad before confirming all the details for his room and payment. They must’ve written it down on a system somewhere because otherwise how would that man know?

He waits a full week before he goes to see Bucky, Natasha and Liliana, long enough to look like he’s actually rested and for him to take off his bandages after his hearing has recovered to the point where he can go without having to ask people to repeat whatever it is they were saying to him.

The world is still dangerously muffled as he walks the streets and he keeps mindful of the traffic, of the pedestrians, of his entire environment in a way he’s never taken care of before, treating it like he would any other mission. It’s a little bit ridiculous because this is New York of all places but at the same time, this is _New York_ , where drivers can run a red light and knock you over, where people with hot cups of coffee can turn corners at a speed that could bowl you over while simultaneously yelling at you and into their phones. It’s a madhouse and he’d be stupid if he took it easy here when he’s technically disabled for the foreseeable future.

He makes it to their apartment in one piece, blows out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and eases out the tension in his back and shoulders as he pushes the button for an elevator. He’s got a stuffed rabbit for Lily, with a velvet pink nose, shiny black button eyes and the softest grey fur he’s ever felt. She’s two and a half now and the last time he saw her was during their last video call about three weeks ago now.

There’s a child’s laughter behind the door when he arrives, a scream that could possibly threaten what’s left of his hearing but he can’t help the smile on his face as he raises a hand to ring the doorbell and knock as it chimes at half its usual volume. There’s another scream and he hears his name being called out as an echoing knock answers him and they play that little game until someone comes by to open the door for him.

‘Steeb!’ Liliana shouts out at him as she holds out her arms for him, jumping at his feet. He puts the bag down by the door, holds her little fingers as she pulls herself up and wraps her legs around his own like a little monkey.

‘Hey, kid,’ he greets as she laughs, tilting her head backwards until she’s half upside down, her shoulder-length reddish brown hair trailing on the floor as he carefully makes his way inside so Natasha can close the door after him. He thanks her absently but gestures to the bag with a tilt of his head. ‘I got you guys a bottle of saffron wine; Bucky mentioned that you like the flavour.’

She looks taken aback but she smoothes it out with a smile, her green eyes softening in thanks as she picks up the bag and the wine with it. ‘Lily, what do we say when people come by to visit?’

‘Hi!’ She says excitedly as she jumps off and starts waving at Steve who kneels down and waves back to her.

‘I got you a present,’ he tells her, can’t help the way he moderates his tone whenever he’s talking to her. ‘You wanna see it?’

‘Prezn’t?’ She echoes as he stands back up and accepts the bag back from Natasha after she took out the wine to put into the fridge. Lily looks at it curiously as Steve puts his hand into the bag, pretends to rummage around before pulling out the bunny with a flourish that makes Lily scream and stomp her little feet.

‘What’s the magic word?’ Bucky asks, leaning on the corner wall that leads into the rest of the apartment, his arms cross and his eyebrow raised in question.

‘Plish,’ she lisps a little bit as she stares up at Steve with her pale blue eyes that doesn’t even need to bat to get him to melt. He hands the bunny over and listens as Bucky asks her what else she needs to say to which she replies with, ‘Denk-ooh.’

‘Good girl,’ Steve praises, running a hand through her soft hair as she cuddles with the bunny and keeps saying the word, “ _fuffy_ ” over and over again, so cute that he wishes he had the forethought to record this moment.

Lily babbles a while, playing with the bunny and neglecting her other toys, but it’s not long before she starts to flag and Natasha tells her it’s time for her nap, picking her up and ignoring her when she starts to kick up a fuss. Steve feels a little guilty about that because if he’d known he would’ve come by much later as he watches the red head disappear further into the apartment with a softly crying baby until it’s muffled behind a closed door. He feels a little awkward then, without Liliana to act as the buffer between himself and Bucky and Natasha, is unsure whether he should stay or just leave to come back another day.

He taps his fingers across his knees a couple of times, looks down the hallway again when he hears a particularly loud cry from Lily before he hears his name being called. He looks over at Bucky, who looks at him expectantly, and feels self-conscious in a way he hasn’t been since before he got the serum and decides to play it cool, standing up and gesturing to the front door with a thumb. ‘I should head off; leave you guys to it. Could probably use a break around here, huh?’

‘Before you go, anything you wanna tell me?’

Steve pauses mid-turn and frowns a little at the brunet, ‘You sound like you’re fishing for something.’

He shrugs, unabashed as he crosses his arms and tilts his head. ‘Yeah, for you to own up to it.’

His frown deepens as he turns to stare at Bucky, is surprised that the brunet is trying to play that card on him after what he did over three years ago. He crosses his arms, subconsciously mimicking the brunet, and refuses to budge.

Bucky’s jaw works a little bit before he huffs. ‘I got a call the other day. They told me you were bleeding outta your ears and that you might be deaf.’

‘I’m fine,’ he scowls as he tightens his grip over his forearms, can’t help but bristle a little bit as he wonders who it was that made the call; Peggy or Phillips? He should’ve updated his emergency contacts but he had nobody else; he didn’t think it was serious enough to warrant a call to Bucky.

‘Yeah? Then how come you didn’t hear me the first time I called you? Or the second? Or the third?’

He shrugs it off, refusing to back down. ‘I was distracted.’

‘No, you were just looking the other way.’

It’s stupid; they look stupid with their crossed arms and the feet braced for a fight with a little baby trying to sleep in the next room over. Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair as he tries to shake off the tension in his shoulders; he doesn’t want to argue, ‘What do you want me to say, Bucky?’

‘I don’t know,’ he says quietly, ducking his head as if he doesn’t want to argue, either. ‘I guess I thought you would—’

Steve raises his eyebrows at the abrupt stop. ‘I would what?’

Bucky pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, looking guilty as his eyes skirt around Steve, but he shakes and turns his face away, hiding behind a curtain of his hair that’s long enough to caress his jaw line. ‘Never mind.’

‘No, what were you going to say.’

He shakes his head again as he unfolds his arms and walks over two steps to the sofa, falling on top of it with a tired sigh, still hiding his expressions from Steve, ‘I thought you would be honest with me,’ he confesses quietly, barely loud enough for Steve to hear, ‘but I wasn’t honest with you before so it’s not like I got a leg to stand on.’

‘Bucky...’ it’s an old wound, one that neither of them really healed from, and no matter how much the both of them have come to love Liliana, it doesn’t change the fact that their relationship broke down because of one stupid mistake.

The brunet chuckles to himself in a way that’s decidedly unhappy as he cocks his head to Steve. ‘Natasha and I have been talking about splitting up.’

He feels his stomach drop at the declaration and his mouth hang open big enough for a question to just tumble out. ‘What?’

‘We never got married; we stayed together for Liliana but Nat’s been seeing another guy and she really likes him. So does Lily.’

‘I—’ he swallows down the anxiety bubbling up in the pit of his stomach, ‘what’re you trying to say?’

Bucky’s face crumples a little bit before he’s able to hide it behind his hair again. ‘I don’t know. I wanted to see if you wanted to—I was gonna tell you before I got that call but I don’t know why I’m bringing this up now. It’s stupid.’

‘It’s—it’s not stupid,’ he says softly as he takes a seat on the other side of the couch, careful to give them some space. ‘If you were gonna say what I think you were gonna say...I don’t think it’s a good idea.’

Bucky nods, dejected, but Steve still feels the need to justify it, to give the both of them some level of closure, to make sure to say whatever it is they need to say and leave no stones unturned. He doesn’t want either of them to keep on having regrets; it’s not healthy.

‘I’m still with the military. I pretty much work for them eleven out of twelve months a year. I only come back for two weeks at a time; I can’t do that to you again, Buck.’

‘But it was nice, wasn’t it? To have a place you know you can come back to? To know you’ve got someone waiting for you?’

‘What about the rest of the time, huh? You’d be sitting alone in an empty apartment waiting on the off-chance that I’ll be back soon. Nothing would’ve changed for either of us. I can’t string you along making you wait for me.’

‘I don’t care. I was happy when we lived together in that tiny apartment even if I only saw you for a little bit at a time. I miss that; I miss _us_ ,’ he begs as he turns to Steve, his eyes bright and devastated.

He looks away, feeling sick to his stomach as he stands up and puts more distance between the two of them. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna change my mind. You deserve stability,’ he says as he starts making his way to the door.

‘What about you?’

Steve pretends he doesn’t hear it as he leaves.

He tries not to think about the look on Bucky’s face as he walked away but it’s hard when it feels like it’s etched behind his eyelids, seared into his mind and carved into the depths of his heart.

The rest of his leave is spent in isolation and his stay at the hotel rakes up a bill that would’ve made him balk if not for the fact he knew full well exactly how much he was overspending. As it is, he pays without batting an eyelid and waits for a taxi that the hotel concierge orders for him before his next flight out.

He feels heavy and he hates the feeling of it laying over his shoulders and dragging him down.

\--

Bruce outfits him with a pair of hearing aids not too dissimilar to what Clint normally wears on missions except they’re customized a blue color surrounded by bright red with a white star in the middle. The brunet tells him that it was Tony but also lets him know it’s probably only temporary; his hearing is recovering at a speed that would make most people envious of but for the sake of his safety and everybody else’s around him, Bruce insists that he wear it at all times unless he’s showering or sleeping.

‘We’ll check every two days to see how you’re doing. I can’t, in good conscience, sign you off for any missions but you’re fine for the normal day-to-day routines around the base. Take it easy for the time being.’

‘Thanks,’ he musters up a smile as he tries not to fiddle with the hearing aids as he walks out of the medical room. It reminds him a lot of when he was growing up and realizes he does not miss them at all, finds them annoying like a pair of earphones that are ill-fitted but he shrugs it off; he can deal with it for the moment.

He spots Sam talking to James a little ways off, under the shade of another building but they stop when they see him and gesture for him to come over. Sam’s got his arms crossed but he’s got a smile on his face that widens until he shows off the little gap between his teeth as Steve gets closer.

‘You know, most people actually _like_ to take leave. Why’d you come back after two weeks, man?’ Sam asks, looking a little put-upon.

‘I was feeling better,’ he says as he taps under his ears, where his neck meets his jaw line. ‘Bruce says I’m getting there.’

‘Yeah, I can tell from the hearing aids that you’re _much_ better,’ James retorts with a smirk and accepts the high-five from Sam without looking over at him.

Steve rolls his eyes, trying hard to look serious even as he’s fighting down a smile, ‘I don’t have to take this.’

‘Come on, man, why didn’t you stay back a little longer? Woulda done you some good to take a proper break, not just leave and then come back soon as you could.’

‘Didn’t have much else to do there, honestly,’ he shrugs and doesn’t feel comfortable bringing up that he hasn’t had a place to call home for over four years now; he gave it all up to live the “American Dream”.

James sighs as he exchanges a look with Sam before he pats Steve on the shoulder and tells him they’ll catch up properly later, leaving the two of them behind in privacy. He wants to walk away, too, but he doubts he’ll get very far with Sam yapping at his heels.

He watches as Sam leans on the wall and slides down until he’s sitting on the dirt, his legs kicked out in front of him and his hands clasped together on his lap. Sam nudges his head to the space next to him and patiently waits for Steve to sit next to him before he talks.

‘You gotta be careful with yourself, man; a lot of people care about you.’

‘I know. I will be. Bruce says I’m off missions until further notice.’

Sam shakes his head, ‘That’s not what I mean. I’m not worried about how you are physically; it’s more about what’s going on in that head of yours that does me in.’

‘I’m fine,’ he grimaces through the small lie. He doesn’t want people to worry about him. He’s got the only working version of the super-soldier serum in his body; he can’t afford to be anything else _but_ fine.

The dark-skinned man shakes his head again, looking distressed as if Steve doesn’t understand. ‘It’s okay to stop every once in a while, to take some time for yourself. Don’t think you don’t deserve that because you do. We all deserve some time to sort ourselves out, to change our minds; we don’t have to commit to this if one day we wake up and suddenly decide we want to try living a different life and go down a different path. Have you thought about what you wanna do after this?’

The way Sam talks reminds him a lot of those meetings they attended together back in D.C and he wonders if this is an impromptu therapy session. He appreciates that but he’s already got a therapist he goes to see once a week on base; he doesn’t need another one.

‘I don’t wanna talk about this,’ he mutters as he gets up from the floor and dusts himself off.

‘Then talk to somebody else about it. _Anybody_ ,’ Sam begs as he remains sitting. ‘Steve, I care about you a lot but the way you’re going is a dangerous road. I don’t wanna see you crash.’

As he walks away from one of the few people he thinks as more than just another soldier-in-arms he can’t help but think to himself: _But what if I’m already burning?_

\--

It takes him another week and a half before Bruce congratulates him on a full recovery but his hopes for continuing to fight the good fight is dashed to the ground when he’s informed by his therapist that he’d failed his last psych evaluation. It feels like a cold bucket of ice has been thrown right down the back of his neck and he barely listens as she tells him to report to Colonel Phillips, whom has already been told of his results, to find out what his next course of action will be. Numb, all he can do is nod and leave.

He walks absentmindedly, his head somewhere up in the clouds, but his body knows where to go and his feet lead him right up to the old man’s office. He sucks in a deep breath through his nose as he knocks and waits for permission to enter before doing so. 

‘Sit down,’ Phillips tells him, not looking up from his paperwork as he signs off the bottom of a document before putting it in the outbox. ‘So, what’s wrong with you?’ He asks without beating around the bush.

‘I failed my psych evaluation, Sir.’

‘I know; I’ve read the file. Question is: why?’

Steve wants to answer that he doesn’t know but Phillips won’t appreciate being lied to and would sooner ship him back stateside than give him a second chance. He knows he’s going to be relegated somewhere else but the only difference is whether he’ll be forced to or if he gets to choose.

He hesitates, because he’s never been comfortable admitting his life’s problems to anybody. In all the years he’s been on this base he hasn’t really opened himself up emotionally to any of the friends he’s made. They laugh and they joke around, they eat at the same table, sleep under the same roof and keep each other alive but that’s it. He knows a lot about Dum Dum and Jim’s families, he knows about Gabe’s long-term girlfriend back home, he knows that Jacques is divorced but is considering talking with his ex-wife and reconnecting while James is still a free-spirit and isn’t interested in tying himself down before he’s travelled the world. He knows Clint loves pizzas, loves dogs and loves archery and jokes about either teaching at an archery club or owning a pizza joint when he’s out of the military, and he knows Sam and Riley are partners in more than just a professional setting, that Sam is thinking of moving states so he can set up his home together with Riley. He knows them, but they don’t know him, and he realizes it’s because he doesn’t want what happened between himself and Bucky to repeat with anybody else. There’s a part of him that feared, still fears, having his heart broken again, even if it’s by someone with whom he wasn’t wholly committed to.

Steve shakes as he comes to this realization and he can’t help the tremble in his voice as he admits this to Phillips, feeling weighed down and ashamed by the wrong choices and unnecessary sacrifices he’d made since he joined the military. ‘I haven’t got my life together, Sir. I haven’t for a long time and it’s finally caught up to me.’

Phillips’ frown deepens and his expression grows stern as he stares Steve down. ‘You wanna try?’

He nods; he’s run away from his problems for long enough. ‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Then you damn well try,’ he orders as he slams a fist on the table, but there’s a pleased smile growing from the corners of his lips as his gaze softens with pride. ‘Don’t worry, kid; you’ll get through it. You’re stubborn enough to make it out on top.’

And just like that, he feels a little bit of the weight disappear from his shoulders from the confidence that Phillips has in him. He thinks, maybe, he can get better; as long as he can continue putting one foot in front of the other and keep on striving.

\--

Phillips tells him he’s going to be transferred back to the New York offices temporarily, situated near the New Jersey border and not too far away of Camp Lehigh, until he’s ready to take his next psych evaluation. He’ll be pushing papers for the foreseeable future instead of dodging bullets and abseiling down crumbling walls but he thinks it’ll be good to take a break from the frontlines for a while.

Dum Dum’s the first one he talks to, because he’s the first friend he made on his own since Bucky. It was hard to confess that his life is kind of falling apart around his ears but it felt cathartic to let it out, to admit that there’s something wrong in his life but he’s going to try and get better.

‘I appreciate you telling me, Steve. I’m only sorry I hadn’t been able to help you sooner,’ Dum Dum tells him sincerely, one hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly.

He shakes his head as he lowers his eyes away from the man who looks like he’s about to shed a tear. He doesn’t know why but he guesses it’s because they’ve been through so much together that when one of their own hurts, they hurt, too. ‘No, I did it to myself, because I was scared. Bucky was the only friend I had for a long time and when I lost him it just... it just crushed me.’

‘You got us now. Whatever you need, you can always rely on us no matter what. You got that?’ he says firmly as he pulls him into a hug and holds on tight. ‘A burden shared is a burden halved. Remember that, okay?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I will,’ he mumbles into Dum Dum’s shoulder, feeling thankful for the man’s presence and blessed that he found a friend in him.

Dum Dum’s with him when he lets the others know, provides him the support he hadn’t expected to receive from anybody outside of Bucky. He feels small in a way but also uplifted when each and every one of them offers their support, too; he doesn’t know why it takes him this many years to accept their friendship, that they’re more than just soldiers-in-arms but also brothers in bond.

‘You ain’t getting rid of us so easy,’ Sam smiles, looking proud of him that he can’t help but duck his head at, feeling warm and overwhelmed and cared for.

‘Thanks, guys.’

As first steps go, he thinks he’s doing pretty well for himself. He only hopes he can keep the momentum going upwards not for the sake of other people but for himself. It’s going to take some time to learn how to be selfish again after giving so much of himself away, but he’ll learn to try to find happiness and keep it in his life; he deserves that much, too.

\--

The offices here aren’t too different to the one he’s used to out in the desert except the weather is cooler and there’s actual air-conditioning, not just a couple of rotating fans situated between every other desk and blowing around stale air. It doesn’t take him long to get situated; he’s basically doing the same thing here as he did there except instead of expecting missions every once in a while there’s a rotation on his floor for someone to go out for a donut and coffee run during the mornings and someone else to run out for the catered sandwiches or packed meals before the lunch hour begins.

He likes it here, too, finds that it’s a different kind of chaos to be working in an office than on the battlefield but is no less stressful for it. He befriends a man named Phil Coulson, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a kind smile, whom apparently already knows of him.

‘I’m sorry I don’t remember you,’ Steve apologizes, feeling himself flush a little bit from the other man’s earnest expression. He usually prides himself on good facial memory but he comes up absolutely blank.

‘Don’t worry about it, we’ve never actually met. I’m one of the department directors for SHIELD; I was partially involved in Project Rebirth but I wasn’t there to watch it unfold.’

‘Oh, it’s an honour to meet you, then,’ he says as he shakes the man’s hand again even though they’ve already introduced themselves to one another.

‘I’m glad to see you’re doing very well.’

He laughs a little uncomfortably. ‘Not doing _that_ well, but I’m getting there.’

Phil smiles as he pats him on the shoulder. ‘Let me know if you need anything.’

Steve thanks the man and watches him go before he goes back to work. He finds himself sorting through a lot of his team’s old mission reports and updating the information onto the servers. He wonders why they don’t do this on-site rather than double up on the work and waste time that could’ve been more efficiently used elsewhere but figures this must be a system that’ll have to do until something better comes along.

Along with his new desk job he also now has to attend therapy two times a week every Monday and Thursday from 3:30pm until 5:00pm. She’s a fairly petite woman of Asian descent with her jet-black hair done up in a loose bun and minimal makeup applied on her face. She wears black-rimmed glasses, has a little mole on her upper cheek just under her left eye and a dimpled smile.

At first it’d been hard to figure out where to start but he figures he might as well just go back to the point where he first heard about the super-soldier program and how Abraham Erskine picked him out of the lot of other volunteers.

‘Is it something you regret?’ She asks in a way that reminds him very much of his other therapist back on base, but he supposes they’re kind of cut from the same cloth after all.

‘No,’ he replies honestly. ‘I don’t regret my choice of joining the program. I only regret that Abraham and Howard died because of it.’

‘Do you blame yourself for their deaths?’

‘Sometimes,’ he sighs as he looks down at his knees and tries not to get lost in the memory of holding Abraham’s body as he slips away. ‘I wish I was fast enough to prevent it.’

‘I find there’s no use in regrets, Captain Rogers; to dwell on things we wished we could’ve changed.’

‘But hindsight is good,’ he says through a little smile.

‘Of course,’ she returns, ‘hindsight helps us learn, but regret only makes us stagnant; it doesn’t help us grow.’

He nods, and ends up talking a little bit more about trying to be a good man, to become a legacy that Abraham would be proud for leaving behind, tells her about the crushing sense of responsibility he sometimes feels for having the title and status of a super-soldier, the need to prove his worth and to give his all for love of country. Some days he’s fine, but other days it takes so much to pull himself out of bed and to keep one foot in front of the other.

The way she looks at him makes him feel as if he’s being scrutinized, but not unkindly, not in a way that makes him feel like a lab rat but more like she’s trying to read into his soul and to find out the best way to advise him on how to heal up those scars he inflicted on himself.

‘You must remember you are only one man; you cannot carry the burden of the other volunteers that were unable to take part in the project.’

It hits a note and he wonders how different his life would’ve been if there were more people like him, if there were more super-soldiers to spread the workload around rather than having to rely on one person to do the job of five people. If there had been a team of men like him, would anything change or would it all stay the same?

‘You have served your country; you are allowed to rest.’

The thing is he doesn’t think he’s allowed himself to actually _breathe_ since Abraham died in his arms. It felt as if he’d been holding his breath since that day and is finally beginning to get light-headed and dizzy from it. He never understood how people could describe being overwhelmed by their emotions as _drowning_ but now he does.

He gets it.

This is him trying to swim back to the surface, back to the light that shines above the water after having forced himself into the darkness for so long.

Steve thinks back on what Sam said asked him back at base, what he wants to do after all of this is over. He hasn’t figured it out yet, but he wants the chance to find out.

\--

At the request of Serena, his therapist, he begins to keep a journal around with him. He lists whatever takes his fancy, anything he wants to do, foods he wants to try, places he wants to go, movies he wants to watch. He sketches in there, too, little doodles next to his words. He’s got a whole eight pages full of Harry Potter related drawings after having watched three of them in a row before calling it a night and he makes sure to watch the other five before moving on to something else.

He tries painting again because it’s been _years_ since he touched the medium and it’s hard at first, his strokes too clumsy and aiming too much for perfection. In the end, he doesn’t paint with anything particular in mind, just throws on whatever color takes his fancy onto the canvas and goes on from there. By the end of a week, he’s got seven canvases that he’s not too sure what to do with but he figures he can put it back into that little storage room that he’s still paying monthly for. He winces at the thought of how much money he’s poured into it and decides maybe he should invest in an apartment instead, rent it out whenever he’s not in the country for someone else to use – he’s got enough money to do that.

After that, the weekends are spent apartment hunting. He wants something small but comfortable, a place with good lighting and a nice kitchen. At first he looks at apartments but slowly migrates to looking at houses because he liked staying over at Riley’s place; the security, privacy, multiple rooms, how he doesn’t have to share walls with anybody and the fact that he can have his own garden if he wanted to.

Steve doesn’t know exactly what it is he’s looking for and just goes with the flow of the real estate agent taking him from place to place. He doesn’t specify to the agent what it is he’s looking for so they end up looking at houses with too many rooms, houses with too many floors, houses with too much black and white and chrome fittings, houses that are too old that look as if one accidental slam of the door is going to make it topple over, and some houses that are just too expensive.

Eventually, he’s taken a little out of the ways until they find a house with two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen that’s adjacent to a dining room, a living room, a single capacity garage and a pull-down set of stairs that leads into the attic. The floors are all polished wood, the walls painted a soft pale blue, and when he stands in the backyard and looks back at the house it reminds him a little bit of the home his ma used to live in back in Ireland with her parents before she moved here to find a new life for herself.

The picture she had showed him was creased at the corners, a little faded from age. His ma looked young and happy posing for the camera while she stood with her mum and dad together under the awning in front of a long table full of half-finished food.

He needs to find her photo album again, needs to dig it out of storage, needs a shelving unit in the living room so he can put it there for him to look through whenever he wants.

Steve asks the agent for the price and before the hour is up, is well underway to getting a house under his name.

It’s been a long time since he’s had a place of his own to call home but this is the first step to rebuilding his life from the ground up. He thinks his ma would be proud of him. He thinks his friends would be, too. He thinks he can host a barbeque in the backyard with everybody around eating, drinking and laughing if he wanted to.

He definitely wants to.

\--

It’s been a month of steady progress and Serena thinks they can go down to having meetings just once a week every Monday but tells him not to hesitate calling her to set up an appointment if he feels himself taking too many steps backwards. She repeatedly lets him know that it’s okay to ask for help and to confide in somebody; there’s nothing wrong with seeking companionship.

‘We’re human, after all; we’re social creatures at our core. How often do you keep in touch with your friends?’ Serena asks, knowing full well that he has no family relatives to speak of.

‘I skype with the boys back at base about twice a week – more if we catch each other at the right time.'

She nods, pleased. 

It takes him a while to realize she’s waiting for more but he hasn’t really spoken to anybody else on the regular outside of the guys and her. He makes conversation with his co-workers because it’s hard not to but they don’t go out after hours for drinks or a meal. He hasn’t even let Bucky know he’s back in the states.

‘You don’t spend time with anybody else?’ She looks gently disappointed by this, her eyebrows pinching together a little bit in worry.

He shakes his head. ‘I...I’m working on it,’ he replies as honestly as he can. It’s just been hard; he’d chickened out of sending a proper text that isn’t just a stupid emoticon almost daily since about a week ago.

Serena takes his word at face-value and moves on to a new topic, asking about his new house and how the redecorating is going. She’s delighted when he tells her about his DIY projects around the house, how he wants to make two shelves to stand side by side in the living room and a small herb box by the kitchen window.

She shows him an app that has all sorts of tips and tricks to turning a house into a home and some of the ideas look like fun to try. By the time he leaves her office, he’s got a new app on his phone and already has a couple of additions he wants to make around the house. He starts by gluing together some of the broken pot plants he found under the stairs leading into the backyard and thinks a strawberry patch would be nice.

\--

He’s on his way home from doing a small grocery run after his therapy session when a flashy sports car stops right next to him on the curb. Steve raises his eyebrows at it, what a thing of beauty it is, but he keeps on walking because if he times it right with the subway then he can make it back to the house in twenty-five minutes, give or take. That is, until the door opens and a familiar dark-haired man steps out of it wearing designer sunglasses and a three-piece suit. Steve rolls his eyes because _of course_ , it would be Tony Stark.

‘So, what’re you doing in my neck of the woods,’ Tony asks as he leaves the door open, inviting someone to just steal it from right under his nose. Steve feels a little uncomfortable at the thought because as much as he loves New York city it’s still not the nicest place to be leaving such a luxury item for anybody to try their hand at nabbing for themselves.

‘Passing through to get home,’ he answers as he looks both ways down the street to make sure nobody gets any funny ideas, his body already tensing at the possibility he might need to vault over something to make sure Tony’s car doesn’t get stolen.

‘Is that a no to a lunch, then?’

‘Lunch?’ He rewinds the conversation and there wasn’t ever a mention of a lunch in anything Tony said to him but he guesses this is just how Tony is. ‘Aren’t you busy running a business?’

‘I’m not a workaholic, despite what Pep and Bruce and Rhodey says,’ he rolls his eyes as he knuckles the roof of the car. ‘Get in – Bruce will wanna know how you are.’

‘Uh...Okay,’ he gives in and somehow ends up spending the rest of his afternoon and evening getting on like a house on fire with Pepper Potts. They’ve never met before but she already knows a few things about him based on what she’s heard from Tony, Bruce and James.

‘I feel like I already know you,’ she laughs when Tony grumbles next to her, seemingly put-upon but looking far too soft and relaxed to pull off the scowl he usually swears around Steve.

It’s like he’s seeing them all in a new light and he finds that he enjoys it, this new leaf he’s turning over, this new chapters he’s starting. Tony may act like he’s a brash kind of guy with no care for other people’s opinions except his own but Steve’s starting to see it for what it really is; just an act.

\--

He’s scared to see Bucky again, but Serena encouraged him to try and face it rather than turn a blind eye to it. It won’t do him any good to run and he honestly doesn’t want a repeat of that downward spiral he hadn’t realized he’d been doing until it was almost too late.

The backyard is properly fenced off and he’s kept away anything that could be potentially bad for Liliana and even some that probably aren’t but he’d rather be safe than sorry when it comes to his god-niece. It takes him a day of fussing around the place to deem it safe before he tentatively extends an invitation for Bucky and Natasha to come over and bring Liliana, too.

Bucky’s reply is almost instantaneous and just as tentative in return, as if he’s not sure where they stand in each other’s lives. While Steve isn’t looking to start a relationship with him again he won’t deny himself how much he’s missed having Bucky for a friend and having someone around to share a part of his life with.

They agree to lunch; Bucky will bring the food and Steve will make dessert. It’s not until he’s pulled out the apple pie from the oven that he realizes Liliana probably shouldn’t have any because he _knows_ she’ll end up running around in a sugar induced high. He lets it sit on the table to cool and resolves to let Bucky decide for her.

Steve cleans the house a little too obsessively while he waits for them to arrive, wiping down the kitchen sink even though it was already spotless after he finished cleaning up after himself from baking the pie. He’s just about to move on to giving the stove another wipe down when he hears the doorbell rings repeatedly, followed by a giggle and some knocking on the door.

‘Who is it?’ He calls out as he stands on the other side. ‘Is this someone I know?’

There’s more knocking followed by more giggles and then a loud voice proclaiming, ‘Steeb!’

‘Steeb? I don’t know anybody named Steeb. Who are you?’

‘Lee-lee!’

He opens the door with a flourish, widening his eyes in surprise as he looks at the little girl in Bucky’s arm and gushes, ‘Lily! Is that you? I didn’t know you were coming today?’

She laughs at him and makes grabby arms, swaying forward out of Bucky’s hold. Steve obliges her and manages to manoeuvre her until she’s sitting on his shoulders, happy that the lighting fixtures in the house aren’t the kinds that hang low. As soon as Lily is cheerfully situated, he greets Bucky with something of a nervous smile and is surprised that Natasha isn’t with him.

At his questioning eyebrows, Bucky tells him, ‘Natasha’s boyfriend surprised her with a visit. I told her not to worry about it.’

‘Surprise visit?’ He asks as Bucky shuts and locks the door behind him, toeing off his shoes and sliding it neatly under the coat rack.

‘Yeah, he’s military, too,’ he replies as Steve ducks under the archway so Liliana doesn’t bump her head. She’s currently occupying herself with his hair, brushing it this way and that and making all sorts of cowlicks appear. ‘Seems like we have a type,’ Bucky jokes awkwardly as he follows Steve into the house until they’re both in the kitchen. He puts a pale pink backpack and a plastic bag down onto the counter and reveals two large containers and one medium sized one. ‘Natasha’s sorry she couldn’t make it but she made us some _solyanka_ and _pierogi_.’

‘I have no idea what those are but I’m game,’ he says and it’s only now he realizes he doesn’t have anything resembling a high-chair for Lily. He wonders if he can get away with stacking a couple of books on the chair and sitting her on top of it. For lack of anything else as a substitute, he pitches the idea for Bucky to decide.

‘Yeah, that’s fine. I think our travel one is by the door. Or else it’s in a train doing a loop around the city.’

He laughs at the imagery as he tries to set Lily down, only for her to yank a little on his hair, quickly catching on how much she doesn’t want that. He winces a little and listens as Bucky admonishes her for pulling his hair and tells her she needs to be more gentle.

‘Say sorry, Lily.’

‘Solly,’ she mumbles as she pats his hair gently and actually lets Steve put her down.

‘That’s okay, Lily,’ he tells her as he kneels down to her level. ‘I know you’ll be more careful next time.’

Bucky has a little smile on his face when Steve stands back up to look at him and he watches as the smile grows a little self-conscious until he looks away to hide a little behind his hair. ‘Thanks,’ he starts a little awkwardly, ‘for not undermining my authority with her.’

He makes a face at that. ‘She’s your kid.’

The brunet scoffs, ‘Yeah, you’ll be surprised how many people think their way is the best way for raising a child.’

‘Well, they can go mind their own business,’ he says as he rolls his eyes and sees another little smile reappear on Bucky’s lips. He changes the subject before he makes things uncomfortable between them again. ‘What time is her lunch usually? Should we eat now or let her play around in the backyard for a little bit first? I haven’t gotten any toys yet but maybe she can just play with the daisies?’

Bucky accepts the shift with relief as he looks down at his daughter who is staring back and forth between either of them as if she’s trying to understand what it is exactly that they’re talking about. ‘Maybe we’ll let her work up an appetite first. She napped a little bit on the train; she doesn’t like to eat so soon after waking up.’

‘Come on, Lily, you wanna see my backyard?’ He asks as he extends a hand out to her and walks the both of them to the backdoor leading out of the house, Bucky following closely behind them. ‘Maybe I should get one of those little pools in there so you can play around in the summer, what do you think?’

‘Pooh!’

Steve chuckles as he pushes open the door and watches as Lily shoots off, tripping down the stairs to land face-first into the grass. He winces in sympathy but she just picks herself back up and keeps on running. He watches with Bucky beside him from under the shade as she pokes at the ground, plucks at the grass, carefully picks up the daisies to gather a little bunch in her hand.

‘Thanks for inviting us over. I think this will probably be her next favorite place to visit,’ Bucky smiles as Lily throws a fistful of grass into the air and giggles as some of it lands on her and her white and blue striped dress.

‘No problem. I’m glad I could share this with you guys. Oh, and uh, I made apple pie but I’m not sure if she’s allowed to have any.’

The brunet shrugs, seemingly not too fussed about it. ‘She can have the crust.’

‘The _best_ part,’ he sighs and returns the elbow nudge that Bucky throws his way.

They spend the next fifteen minutes outside, during which Steve decides he needs to invest in either a porch swing or a couple of chairs for the patio, before Bucky calls her back inside to have lunch.

The stew that Natasha made is sweet and tangy, rich in spices and herbs. The potatoes are flavoured from the broth and the meat practically melting in his mouth. He holds back a moan, because there’s a kid around, and hides a little behind his hand as he slowly chews his first mouthful.

‘Good, right?’ Bucky chuckles as he keeps an eye on making sure the food goes into Lily’s mouth instead of on her clothes or on the floor.

‘If Natasha decides to open a restaurant I will order this every time I visit for the rest of my life,’ he pledges as he spoons some more into his mouth, loving the explosion of flavours and the tenderness of the beef with every bite.

‘You haven’t even tried the _pierogi_ yet.’

As soon as he does he guesses it’s a good thing Natasha doesn’t actually have a restaurant because with this kind of food he has no doubt he’d be gaining a lot of weight; there’s no way he could resist going back for more and he doubts he’d be satisfied with going just once a week.

At the end of their visit, Bucky insists he keep the food since he enjoyed it so much. In return, Steve asks him to bring home the apple pie.

‘Share it with Natasha, and her boyfriend if he’s around. Just reheat it in the oven and the crust should be okay again.’

‘Thanks,’ he smiles as he carefully tucks the container into the backpack to carry back home since he’s got his arms full of a sleepy baby. ‘And thanks again for inviting us out. I had fun, and I know Lily did, too.’

‘No worries. I—yeah, it’s been a good day. Maybe, if you want, we can make this a weekly thing?’

There’s a look of surprise on Bucky’s face but it smoothes out into a pleased grin as he nods. ‘Yeah, that’ll be great. And maybe you can come by our place when you’re free, too.’

‘Cool.’

‘Cool,’ he echoes and the both of them wave to each other before Bucky leaves with Liliana. Steve watches them go and waves again when the brunet looks over his shoulder back at him and keeps on watching until he can’t see them anymore. He closes the door behind him once they’re gone, truly happy with his feelings in regards to Bucky for the first time in so long.

It’s been a good day.

\--

They make the effort to see each other twice a week, sometimes more, sometimes less depending on their schedules. He likes it a lot, and he can see himself being able to at least be friends again with Bucky which restores a little bit of equilibrium in his life that he’d lost when he walked away from him. He learns a little bit more about Natasha, how she’s a third generation Russian born in America, how her family immigrated into the United States just before the Cold War began, how she’s absolutely not related to the Romanov family in any way and how the Anastasia movie, despite being cute, is actually historically incorrect. She’s a part-time teacher who specialises in Russian history and also has a hobby for mixed martial arts.

One day, she introduces him to her boyfriend while he’s over at their apartment and he almost falls out of his seat when he sees Clint, looking a little rundown, walk in right behind her.

‘You’re the guy who walked into the lamp-post while trying to order pizza on your phone?’

Clint stares wide-eyed for a while, a little too focused on his lips, but he quickly retorts, ‘Hey, that two-for-one deal was gonna expire in less than five minutes. I had to prioritize!’

Steve throws his head back in laughter, hand over heart as he stumbles his way across the floor to grab Clint in a hug. ‘Not gonna lie; there was a part of me that thought: _Hey, that sounds a lot like Clint_ , but I didn’t bother asking. I should’ve.’

Clint smiles when he lets go and starts having a cheeky conversation with him using sign language that Bucky only understands a quarter of but Natasha, surprisingly, is fluent in.

The rest of the afternoon and evening is spent talking to each other, with Steve and Clint telling Bucky and Natasha how they came to work together in a few missions and how they eventually became friends with one another. He thinks it’s a pretty small world but he finds that he doesn’t mind the line between his military life and his personal life blurring a little bit. He’s kept them too far apart from one another for too long and it hurt him in the long run. This time, he’s going to do it better, not just for himself but for the people in his life, too.

\--

In total, he spends three and a half months out in the New York offices and the easy pace of working in a non-combative environment has done some good to help him achieve a decent work and life balance for himself. When Serena congratulates him on passing his psych evaluation he can’t help the swell of pride in his chest and the excitement he feels at the thought of being able to go back out to the frontlines, but he also feels trepidation at the thought of losing this stability that he’s still working hard to keep. He vows to himself it won’t be as bad as last time; he won’t stay away for months at a time, he won’t lock people out of his life, he won’t shut himself down and not speak to his friends if he ever becomes emotionally burdened.

It took him a long time to realize that it’s okay to share his thoughts and his feelings, to talk it out and get advice and help and insight from other people. It took him a long time to realize keeping whatever was troubling him wasn’t doing anybody any favours, least of all himself. He knows now that he has plenty of friends to rely on just as they can rely on him. It feels good to have friends, and he feels blessed to have so many.

Bucky, Natasha and Liliana see him off at the airport, the first time that it’s ever happened, and he gives Bucky a spare key to his house for them to borrow.

‘If you guys ever wanna get away from the city, or let Liliana just run around in the backyard.’

‘You sure?’ Bucky asks as his hands hover just out of reach.

‘Yeah, you can keep an eye on it for me while I’m away,’ he smiles as he pushes the key into the brunet’s hands.

It’s the first time he’s initiated physical contact with him; every other touch had been accidental and met with apologies but he wants Bucky to know that he’s alright, that they’re alright.

‘We’ll see you soon,’ he smiles softly, shyly curling his hand around Steve’s.

He’s reluctant to let go and leave, worried that everything they worked hard for will be dashed to the ground the minute he steps on the plane and leaves the country, but he needs to have faith in himself and in Bucky that they’ll be able to continue where they left off, that they can fully heal whatever’s broken between them.

Steve gives Liliana a smacking kiss goodbye on her cheek and a softer one on Natasha’s before he goes. He keeps the hand that held Bucky close to him, as if to keep that little bit of warmth in his palm for longer.

\--

The boys celebrate his return with whoops and hollers, and it feels good to be back.

\--

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN A WHILE. It's been super busy. I need more sleep, and me-time, please.

He’s given a mission practically the second he steps foot onto the desert sand as well as twenty four hours of prep time. Phillips is apologetic as he hands over the brief but the old man admits he’d been holding off giving the mission to anybody else even though there are other teams around that are just as capable of getting it done.

‘Is there something I should know, Sir?’ He asks after he’s had a quick read through of the mission details. It looks simple, so he doesn’t know why it has to be his team specifically that needs to do it.

Phillips sighs as he sits back down on his chair, knocking back his cup of water like he wishes it was something stronger instead. ‘The Avengers are currently suspended pending military investigation for a failed information retrieval. In the meantime, the STRIKE team has been transferred over to “pick up the slack”,’ he scoffs as he rolls his eyes upward, still muttering under his breath.

‘Excuse me?’ He wonders if that was why Clint’s back stateside and wonders why the other man didn’t talk to him about it. A part of him knows why; you don’t discuss matters that contain sensitive information when they are ears all around, but at the same time he would’ve done anything he could to lend his support to a team he knows are essentially made up of good people. It occurs to him now that Clint barely spoke, mostly using sign language but he thought the other man was just trying to have some fun riling Bucky up.

Steve’s team aren’t a stranger to mission failures although it’s a rare thing to experience, but they’ve never been suspended for an investigation before. He wonders, then, how badly the Avengers failed that they had to go through that.

 ‘The STRIKE team are made up of a group of guys with a knock-off version of the super-soldier serum.’

‘It’s been replicated, then?’ He asks, a little bit excited at the prospect of other men like him that can take the burden of the world’s problems together on their shoulders, but he can’t help but hold back at the infuriated look the man has on his face.

‘Somewhat,’ he admits begrudgingly but he shakes his head and closes that line of conversation. ‘Enough talk; time is ticking for you. Read up on the brief and get ready to be deployed within twenty four hours.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ he salutes as he picks up the folder and leaves the room, feeling weighed down by the fact that some of his friends need help that he can’t provide but he has to leave that to the side for the moment and dedicate all of his concentration to completing the next mission.

He gathers the rest of his Howling Commandos in their private office, the men standing around him with serious expressions and giving their captain all of their attention as he discusses the mission details with them. It’s a scouting and surveillance assignment; staff rotations, guard postings, compound parameters all need to be noted down. They’re not to engage with any hostiles unless it’s absolutely unavoidable and they have a four-day restriction before their next extraction regardless of whether or not they have all the information they need.

Steve tells them to pack lightly and to only bring whatever is necessary, no more.

‘We’re going incognito.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ they salute and immediately head off to get themselves ready.

As he watches them go he realizes he doesn’t miss this feeling, doesn’t miss the worry or the dread or the unpredictable outcome of every mission no matter how prepared each of them are, no matter how many contingency plans they have ready. He’s almost 29-years old; he’s done enough.

Steve tells himself he’ll keep doing this until the end of his 30th year then he can retire. Maybe he saw himself doing this until he’s well into his 40s or 50s before when he didn’t think he had any other option but he’s got a bachelor degree to his name that he wants to put to good use rather than collect dust.

\--

They’re split off into teams of two, each taking up a quadrant and monitoring the comings and goings of the people within the compound. It’s a small base of operations tucked into a mountain side with three small buildings outside. They can’t figure out what’s going on within the mountain but they make do with figuring out everything else.

Dum Dum points out at a building nearest to the centre of the area and hands over the binoculars. He remembers seeing boxes piled up around one side of the building with camouflage tarps used to cover it, this time he can see a group of three men gathered around one of the boxes and the top lid pulled off.

It’s full of Stark Industry weaponry but old models. He knows because the company logo stamped on the cargo is outdated; doesn’t bear a resemblance to the overhauled look that Tony made his dad’s business go through when he officially took over a couple of years after his untimely death.

‘No idea how long they’ve been stockpiling that for; Stark doesn’t do that kind of thing anymore’, Dum Dum muses as he accepts back the binoculars after Steve’s had another quick scan of the area and took down another set of notes about it.

‘We can probably safely assume it was when Obadiah Stane was still in charge,’ he mumbles back as he looks in the general direction of where his other men are and, after seeing nothing wrong, goes back to observing the area.

It’s day three of four, and based on what everybody else has compiled so far the information is as follows: there are two guards of two people walking the circumference of the area at opposite ends, changing out every four hours, alternating at a two hour difference during which there’s a small gap of a few minutes where one side isn’t well looked after. There are also men posted in groups of two or three across the entire area, one team per building and one standing at the mouth of the cave.

None of them know what’s inside but every so often, no more than once a day, there will be a group of four people to emerge and go into one of the buildings to bring in a cargo box.

A part of Steve wonders if this is like what happened with Tony all over again, if they’ve got another group of hostages in there working tirelessly around the clock for a chance at freedom that will never come.

‘Tony Stark is back safe and sound in that awful building in Manhattan, right?’ Steve asks, can’t help but feel a little sick at the thought of someone going through that same thing. ‘You guys haven’t heard anything about him being kidnapped again, right?’

‘Easy, cap; he’s fine, as far as I know,’ Dum Dum tells him with a reassuring pat on the back. ‘He asked about you while you were holidaying back stateside.’

‘It wasn’t a holiday,’ he tries to argue except for the fact that it kind of was. He’s kind of touched that Tony would ask about him and thinks he’ll try and make another attempt at getting to know him; start fresh and without their preconceptions of one another clouding their viewpoints.

‘Sure,’ he chuckles under his breath but leaves it at that.

It’s only during the third night of their surveillance that they notice a pattern within the compound; they become more laid back as the sun dips over the horizon, lazier in their vigilance and quicker to drop whatever it is they’re doing to gather around a couple of barrels all lit up to socialize with one another. If not for the guns on their backs, they look like a normal bunch of men trying to make a life for themselves out in the desert.

‘Cap,’ Jim starts one night when they’ve gathered around one another to compare notes. Everything they’ve got so far really only leads to one possible outcome. ‘We’ve done scouting missions before but never anything this vague; we don’t even know who or what we’re dealing with.’

Steve nods in agreement and thinks back on the look on Phillips’ face as he hands over the mission briefing for him over the other teams that were readily available. ‘Phillips chose us for a reason; we need to show he made the right choice.’

‘There has to be a follow-up mission after this, right?’ Gabe asks quietly, still looking out into the distance as their sentry. ‘Because there’s only one thing I can think of to come out of this.’

 _Storm the base_ , he doesn’t say out loud. His first thoughts would usually go towards a hostage-rescue situation but he can see that it’s not the case – there haven’t been any signs to show that there are prisoners within the compound that they’ve seen, or maybe they’re kept deep within the walls of the mountain.

They’ve stormed bases before; they’ve taken back towns and villages from hostile factions and they’ve done their best to monitor the situation surrounding the country to stop wars from escalating beyond what can be controlled.

Steve doesn’t know all of the details and he knows that if Phillips could tell him everything he would, and that’s the thought that sits sourly in the pit of his stomach. Something’s been wrong since he got back to the desert, since he found out the Avengers failed and suspended for what should’ve been an easy mission, since he heard about the STRIKE team being transferred here. He doesn’t like it but all he can do is tell the rest of his men to take turns having some shut-eye and then get back to work come morning.

‘We have less than eighteen hours to figure what it is about this place that Phillips doesn’t trust to anybody else before we need to get back to the rendezvous point; make it count.’

They nod and quietly make their way back to their spots, taking turns to sleep for a couple hours at a time before trading spots. Steve tells Dum Dum to sleep first; his head’s too all over the place with questions and speculations to switch off.

It’s on the fourth morning, before dawn even breaches over the horizon, that something breaks the monotony of their surveillance – a truck, painted to look like the sand they’re surrounded by, is heading towards the mountain. Steve wakes Dum Dum up from his second nap and gets him to watch through his rifle scope.

‘That looks like one of ours?’ He starts, sounding confused.

‘We’ve lost some trucks before. I’m not surprised they salvaged something out of them to make it work. They might be able to get a few eyes to slide over them but they wouldn’t pass muster up close. Look.’

The truck has a few too many bumps and broken pieces, not to mention a couple of customized paint jobs over inconspicuous parts of the vehicle. There’s one he can see on the front bumper, small and barely noticeable, and another on the car flap he spots as soon as it enters the compound and does a one-eighty turn, facing back the way it came from.

It’s an image of a skull and some tails, chipped in a few places so he can’t see all of the details, but it’s then he notices it marked on a few places throughout the base – a corner of a building here, sprayed across a box here, some of the men have the insignia branded on their clothes, well-camouflaged that he would’ve mistaken it for a pattern on their fabric of a paint splatter if not for the fact that he now knows differently.

‘I think I’ve seen that symbol before,’ Dum Dum mutters under his breath as the driver of the truck gets out, his uniform exactly the same as the others, while another man gets out from the back, yelling and gesturing into it and pointing a gun. Immediately, someone starts to climb out with their hands up and head down.

His heart skips a beat at the thought that it’s now a hostage-situation. Whatever follow-up mission they have will need to take that into account.

‘Where have you seen it before?’ Steve asks as he watches the five prisoners being pushed forward into the mouth of the cave, shaking and scared out of their wits. Some of them look like teenagers, with the oldest one looking no more than 30-years old. They all look dirty, a couple of them with blood on their faces, but he doesn’t know how or from what.

‘Can’t remember,’ he answers after a few more minutes of contemplation. ‘Might need to ask the rest of the boys.’

‘We’ll do it later,’ he promises as he continues to watch the events unfold in front of them. It’s not long before the two men from the truck come back holding onto a small suitcase each. Steve doesn’t know what’s inside them; maybe money, maybe information, and as much as he wants to take action now, none of them are prepared for a change in plans. They’ve got less than twelve hours left until extraction and they need to report on as much of this as they can back to Phillips.

Two hours before they make the trek back to the rendezvous point, he asks them to say absolutely nothing of the truck, or of the men, or of their insignias.

‘We’ll stick to the absolute basics of what we’ve got; I’ll let Phillips know the rest. You said they looked like Hydra?’ He asks as he turns to Gabe who’s shaking his head and looking a little confused.

‘Yeah, I read about them back in high school – they were a Nazi-sect that did a lot of human experimentations and weapons development using POWs but the SSR got rid of them at the end of World War 2.’

‘Obviously, not all of them,’ Jacques mutters around an unlit cigarette. ‘Maybe someone thought they could revive the group – what was it again? Hydra?’

‘Yeah. They did some really messed up things, worse than what happened in the concentration camps.’

‘I don’t wanna think about it,’ Jim pales and it doesn’t take much for Steve to think of what the Americans did to the Japanese immigrants back during those times. He’s glad that’s just a part of history now, and hopes nobody ever has to live through that era again.

‘Alright, let’s move out,’ he tells them once they’ve concluded their findings and made sure to cover up any possibly discrepancies in their notes. As far as anybody outside of their team knows, it was a routine scouting mission with not much to show for it and not a whole lot of reason to have a follow-up assignment.

 Their ride arrives right on the dot and they’re greeted by two men wearing the STRIKE uniform that he’s never seen before but he salutes them and extends his hand, seeing the rest of his team follow his lead.

‘Captain Steve Rogers, you’re the STRIKE team?’

‘Yeah. I’m Special-Ops Brock Rumlow and this is my second, Jack Rollins. What can you tell us about the base?’ He asks, barely allowing them to get on board of the helicopter before drilling them for answers.

‘We’ve gotten down their rotations; they mostly stick in groups of two’s and three’s,’ he yells a little over the noise of the chopper as he clips himself in and makes sure the rest of his guys have done the same before continuing. ‘Between all of us, we’ve managed to draw up a map of the outside area but we weren’t able to figure out what’s actually inside the mountains.’

‘What else?’ Rumlow asks as he accepts the notebook from Steve and looks through the pages as if he’s looking for something specific.

‘They’re pretty strict in their surveillance during the daylight hours but they ease off during the night. If we’re planning a takeover then anything after nightfall would be my best bet.’

The dark-haired man is quiet for a moment before he snaps the notebook shut and gestures using it for Rollins to grab the others. ‘Thanks for the help, boys. Let’s see if we can rustle up some grub for you guys back at base, huh?’ He grins, more teeth than anything, but Steve smiles and eases back into his seat, all of them tired from doing four full days of observation.

‘We’ll probably need those back to write our reports with but we’ll grab it from you once we get back.’

‘Sure,’ he says without looking up from where he looking at the books that Rollins’ got open in his hands.

He pretends to let the monotonous blades above them lull him into an absentminded look. Dum Dum’s already snoozing away beside him, arms crossed and head ducked low. All of them look a little worse for wear and he watches Rumlow and Rollins from the corner of his half-lidded eyes while he’d facing the scenery passing them how they’re comparing all of the notes gathered by each of them.

He’s glad that all of them had the foresight not to mention anything about the truck, or any possible Hydra affiliations. The STRIKE team won’t find any ripped or missing pages so there won’t be any questions thrown their way if it comes to asking for clarification. He can’t help but question their motives for coming all the way out here to meet with them when they could’ve easily waited until they arrived back at base to ask whatever questions they wanted.

It takes them a little over half an hour before they arrive back at base. They disembark to see a scowling Phillips and normally that wouldn’t be anything of concern if not for the way his posture tightens at the sight of the two members of the STRIKE team to get off the chopper with them. Steve grabs their notebooks back from Rumlow and Rollins and salutes them as the helicopter powers down behind them.

‘Maybe we’ll work together in the future,’ Steve tells them as the two of them lazily give their salutes in return.

‘Looking forward to it,’ Rumlow says with another grin that reminds him a little too much of the bullies he had back when he was smaller.

Steve turns around and tells the boys to wash up, get some food and some rest. They can fill the reports later after they’ve had a break. They all sigh appreciatively at being allowed some free time for themselves and head off to their dorms to unpack and unwind. Meanwhile, he won’t let himself rest just yet.

‘Colonel Phillips; ready to give a mission report, Sir,’ he salutes and watches as the man nods and starts heading towards his office. Along the way they bump into Peggy, which he thinks looks planned because he knows she never leaves her office to do a walkabout unless it is absolutely necessary.

‘Captain Rogers, welcome back,’ she greets.

‘Thank you, Agent Carter,’ he smiles, ignoring the little groan and roll of the eyes that the old man is sending their way.

‘I don’t suppose either of you would be interested in taking a little break for tea and biscuits?’

‘As much as I am tempted, I’m afraid I have a mission report to deliver, Sir,’ Steve says apologetically and almost laughs a little at the way Phillips throws his hands up in the air.

‘You Brits and your tea. You got any hard stuff to go with that?’ Phillips asks and gives in to the request. They end up diverging away from their main route and, after doing a quick stop at the mess hall for a pot of boiling water, they end up sitting in her office instead with the doors shut behind them.

‘How was the mission?’ Peggy asks, looking a little too deliberate despite her laid-back tone as she waits for her tea to finish steeping.

‘Boring, but thank you for easing me back in,’ he smiles as he bites into a shortbread biscuit, getting crumbs all over his uniform and reaching for a tissue to brush some of it away, picking up a pencil as the same time. ‘We couldn’t turn out much but we’ve got their rotations down in our notes,’ he says and starts to repeat everything he said on the helicopter to Rumlow and Rollins as he does a quick sketch of the insignia on the tissue paper and it doesn’t take long for recognition to flit across Peggy’s and Phillips’ face.

‘Phillips, don’t you dare light that cigar in my office. It took me forever to get rid of the stench Howard left behind,’ she admonishes as she hands over a dirty cup for the older man to borrow.

‘Leave an old man to his vices,’ he grumbles. ‘When I asked for the hard stuff I didn’t mean that you should let the damn tea sit for a couple of minutes longer.’

‘I don’t carry alcohol in my office, Sir. Perhaps you should ask Anthony next time you want a dash of bourbon in your earl grey.’

‘You call Tony by his full first name?’ Steve snorts after he catches on, writing down a couple more notes onto the paper – truck, two men, five hostages, two small suitcases, which Steve draws an arrow leading back to the two men.

Peggy nods as she takes the tissue and lets Phillips throw some ash on top of it to let it smoulder in the cup. ‘If he insists of calling me Margaret then I insist on calling him Anthony.’

‘Fair enough,’ he says around a shrug as he takes a sip of his tea. It’s a bit too strong for his liking but he figures he’d need it to survive the rest of the day if he’s going to be repeating mission reports and writing them down for submission.

They make light conversation for another ten minutes, long enough for him to have two cups of teas and five shortbread biscuits. By the time they leave, Phillips is carrying all of their accumulative notes, Steve is trying to brush away the crumbs on his uniform and Peggy is nonchalantly spraying a deodorizer to get rid of the smell of cigars and tissue paper.

‘I will burn every single one of those cigars if you smoke them in my office again,’ she threatens and none of them point out Rumlow and another STRIKE member sitting at an unoccupied desk a couple of rows away from her office, writing out their own reports. From Steve’s experience as a super-soldier, even a knock-off version would be able to hear a partial conversation from that small distance.

He doesn’t know what’s going on but he really doesn’t like it – he doesn’t like the suspicious circumstances that led to the suspension of the Avengers, and he doesn’t like how the presence of the STRIKE team is throwing off the dynamics that the base has been running on for years if not decades. He doesn’t let his doubts show on his face as he walks with Phillips back to his office only to give a more official report of what they did during their mission minus a few details regarding the final day. When he leaves over an hour later, he spots Rollins and another guy from the corner of his eyes conversing easily not too far away. He rubs his face tiredly and adopts a distracted expression on his face as he makes his way to the barracks where he can take a nice long shower and meet up the rest of the boys in time for dinner.

Steve acts like he normally would outside of missions but he’s mindful of the presence of the STRIKE team dotting the compound. They’re situated at every corner, in every building, as if they’re performing their own surveillance of the area and making their own notes of the place. He’s not sure what they’re after but he doesn’t like the vibe they give him, and he knows he’s not the only one to feel this way.

He’s surprised when he sees Sam and Riley enter the mess hall, looking frustrated and talking under their breaths. He’d assumed they would be suspended, too, seeing as they were originally part of the Avengers teams but he’s glad to still see them around. Steve doesn’t do anything to grab their attention but he greets them when they sit at their table near the end, looking better as soon as they’ve got a tray of food in their hands.

‘Welcome back, Steve,’ Sam says as he gives Steve a hug and a hard slap on the back. ‘How was New York?’

‘Pretty good,’ he smiles as he sits back down, spooning up some potato mash and gravy into his mouth.

‘What about everything else?’

‘Pretty good,’ he repeats and lets his happiness show on his face. ‘I know what I wanna do after this is over.’

‘That’s great, man!’ He congratulates him and Riley offers his house so they can do a barbeque to celebrate one day.

‘Yeah, or we could do it at my place, too,’ he shrugs as he bites into a chunk of meatloaf and tomato sauce.

He’s met with silence but then he catches the growing smiles on each of their faces before they roar in approval and excitement, causing a ruckus in the mess hall. He laughs as they push him around, pat him on the back, on his head, on his shoulder, and even once on his ass. He throws Dum Dum a half-hearted warning look but the other man just laughs and shrugs.

They ask him when he bought a house, where it’s situated, how the neighborhood is like, if he’s got any pictures, if he wants any help with renovations.

Steve tells them he bought the house a while ago, that he’d originally been looking at apartments to stay in rather than flitting around from hotel to motel or whatever, but ended up buying a house in a pretty quiet neighborhood instead. He shows them a few pictures of the place, nothing much, but mostly ones that include Lily playing in the living room, in the backyard, Bucky making them hot chocolate on the stove while Lily watches curiously how it’s done.

‘That’s Bucky?’ Dum Dum asks with a point of his finger.

‘Yeah,’ he smiles, a little wistfully and looks up to see the other man staring at him, assessing him, but his mouth slowly turns up in a smirk that makes Steve sure he’s going to saw something lewd in the next second.

‘He’s got a nicer set of buns than you.’

The boys hoot out in raucous laughter, growing louder when Steve decides to backhand his shoulder in retaliation.

They spend the rest of the dinner talking about his break back home, how his therapy had been going, the progress he made with himself and the people in his life and what he hopes to do once he retires out of the military. He takes them up on the offer for renovations and DIY projects; his backyard could do with a sturdy picnic table if they’re going to be doing barbecues there in the near future.

Throughout it all, he is very much aware of the stares thrown their way. It never bothered him because he and his team are prone to excitable conversations and loud teasing, but there’s something about the STRIKE team that makes the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His gut instinct tells him they’re bad new but he holds onto his reservations; it won’t do to show anything other than a friendly face when they haven’t done anything to prove him right. Maybe that’s just the way the special-ops people are, maybe it’s just the way they’re trained, maybe Steve would’ve been right along with them if he hadn’t been the first and original super-soldier for the military. Despite coming up with all these reasons, he can’t shake off the bad vibe he gets from them, especially Brock Rumlow.

It takes him a long time to go to settle down that night even though he’s exhausted from the mission. More than once he swears he heard Rumlow talking to somebody just at the edges of his hearing, sounding agitated and angry but quiet enough that it would’ve been missed if he’d been out like a light. In the end, he doesn’t sleep a wink.

\--

It’s five days later when they’re given the follow-up mission. Phillips gives him the brief, tells him the basic rundown, allows him to make some adjustments to the plans then gives him and his team a little over thirty hours to get ready.

‘You’re teaming up with STRIKE this time. Be careful.’

The assignment is simple enough; nothing they haven’t done before. ‘We’re just detaining the hostiles and securing the base,’ he tells him but Phillips has a pinched expression that bodes ill. He has absolute faith in the Howling Commandos to get the job done, but he worries about Phillips’ lack of faith in the special-ops they’re supposed to be working with. If his CO has doubts, then obviously there’s something he needs to know for the safety of his team and of himself.

‘The STRIKE team has a 100% mission completion but their collateral damage is ridiculously high – unnecessarily so. From what I’ve heard, and I’ve heard a lot, they have a tendency to shoot first and think later.’

He nods and tries to squash down the uneasy feeling in his gut, ‘We’ll do our best to keep causalities to a minimum, Sir.’

‘I know you will, you always have,’ he says as he grabs Steve by the shoulders and holds on tight, out of character and a little anxious in a way Steve has never seen before. ‘But make sure, above all else, none of you die from this, even if it means ignoring your word.’

He forces himself to take a deep breath as he nods again. He gives Phillips another salute before he leaves the room. After a quick surreptitious glance around the area he notices that none of the STRIKE team members are around, maybe stuck in a briefing of their own in another part of the compound.

It’s weird, because for all the times he and the rest of the Howling Commandos have worked as a unit with the Avengers they’ve always grouped together to go through the mission details as a team so that everybody’s on the same page, that nobody accidentally goes off and ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everybody pitches in their suggestions to improve the plan, to give back-up ideas in case something goes wrong and they need to think on the fly. It’s how they’ve always worked, it’s how things have always been done and to see the divide that’s already visible between himself and the STRIKE team is worrying and disconcerting. He hopes he’s simply over-thinking things and everything will turn out fine.

The guys usually hang out together in their small office either dicking around or actually getting some work done. He knows Gabe is meticulous when it comes to paperwork and will always fill out his mission reports as soon as possible but James, for all that he likes to talk about propriety, is probably the one that’s the slowest to get them done.

He’s almost there when he sees Brock and his team leave the building just ahead of him and he jogs up to meet them.

‘Hey, Brock, we should talk about the mission. Get ourselves on the same page,’ he says as he gestures with his folder.

One of the guys snort and there’s a sharp grin on Brock’s face as he dismisses his team with a nudge of his head. ‘No need; you’ve guys got your mission details and we’ve got ours.’

‘What?’

‘We’re not working together,’ he says as he casually crosses his arms and loosens his posture. ‘We’re just going to be in the same place at the same time. No big deal.’

He frowns, feeling frustration bubble up as he stares in disbelief at the other man. ‘It _is_ a big deal – what if we accidentally shoot each other?’

‘Then we’ll add it to the report. Like I said, no big deal,’ he smirks and walks away.

Steve doesn’t realize how angry he’s feeling beyond his shock until he looks at the mess of papers in his hand and notices the crumpled folder in his white-knuckled fist. He doesn’t dwell on his rage, refuses to, but keeps on walking until he finds Sam and Riley and lets them know they’re going to be having mission briefing.

When they arrive, the guys watch him smooth out a little of the papers as best as he can before handing it out for them all to have a look through. Dum Dum gives him a raised eyebrow in question but he shakes his head as he goes through the plan, asks for suggestions, and they put together a couple of back-ups for just in case. As soon as that’s done, he answers the question that most of them didn’t voice.

‘The STRIKE team has a different agenda to us. I don’t know what they’re going to be doing but I want you all to be careful of them,’ he says to them and then repeats everything Phillips told him about the STRIKE team and their reputation.

‘Are you telling us that we need to watch out for the bad guys _and_ the STRIKE team?’ Sam asks, his voice pitched higher in shock.

‘Yes. I tried to get Brock Rumlow and his crew to meet with us for a talk but he basically told me that it’s not in their plans.’

‘What are they there for, then?’ Jim asks as he squints at the papers in his hands as if it might give them a clue about that the other team might be up to.

Steve shakes his head. ‘I don’t know. Whatever it is, it’s not gonna be good for any of us so all of you better keep on your toes.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ they salute and immediately head off to get their gear and prep themselves for the mission tomorrow. The plan is to leave before sunset and wait for a couple of hours after night has fallen before proceeding with the plan.

They arrive at the helipad just in time to watch the STRIKE team take off and leave without them. Steve isn’t surprise but it doesn’t stop his anger from boiling over at the cocky salute Brock throws at them before disappearing out of sight. It takes them a few precious minutes to get their gears loaded up and a few more to strap themselves in. It takes them a total of ten minutes before they’re following after the first helicopter and by then they’ve already got a sizeable lead in front of them.

Steve watches through the window in the cockpit for anything in the distance and they’re about five minutes away from the landing site when he catches clouds of orange and black explode into the air, originating from the mountain base where they’d been surveying just barely half a week before.

‘Captain, ready for your orders.’

He turns to see Sam and Riley standing near the door, ready to freefall and launch themselves into the air to get their mission started but he shakes his head; doesn’t tell them to go. ‘We stick to the plan.’

It’s fraught, and their pilot does their best to get them as close as possible before he deems it unsafe. They jump off as they hover a couple of feet off the ground and make their way towards the base at a dead run, listening to the screams of men, gunshots into the dying day and more explosions rock the compound.

‘Help whoever you can,’ he shouts over the din but even he can tell that it’s already too late for some of them. He can see bullet holes riddling one of the enemies, more than just a couple, covered in blood. Steve keeps moving and ducks behind a crate when he hears a gunshot from nearby. He looks around the corner and sees one of the men in the STRIKE team go down with a bullet to his bicep, shouting in pain and ignored by his partner who keeps striding forward without a care for his team mate.

There’s a lot of gunfire happening within the cave, people running away. He sees one of the hostages they took note sprinting out from the mouth of the cave only to be shot down by Rollins. Steve grits his teeth in anguish; he doesn’t know what to do – he’s never taken part of a mission where the end goal is different for both teams. He knows he’s not the only one confused, listens as Sam and Riley make loops overhead and yelling into the comms to relay what they see. He watches as Jim pulls one of the hostiles out from the open, bleeding from a bullet hole in his calf muscle only to be callously gunned down by a passing STRIKE member.

Jim’s got blood on his face, lined with shock, and he surges up in rage ready to hit but Jacques holds him back, gets him behind a building and out of the way. He hears Jacques shouting at him to “ _calm the fuck down before you get yourself killed_ ” and Steve wants them to pull out; they have no clue what they’re doing, they’re just getting in the way and he doesn’t want anybody in his team to die. Not for a stupid mission like this.

He watches James and Gabe get near the mouth of the cave in time to see three members of the STRIKE team run out like they’ve got the devil on their heels. They barely clear six feet from it when another explosion rocks the place and throw two of his Howling Commandos onto their backs, unmoving.

Steve shouts out their names and sees Dum Dum race ahead of him. None of the hostiles are offering resistance, just confused and aimless. He sees fear etched across the face of one of them, barely more than his mid 20’s, before he’s shot through the side of his head. He feels his breath leave him as he watches the man slump down like a ragdoll near his feet, the white of his eyes visible.

‘Gabe and James are down, we need assistance!’ Dum Dum shouts loud enough into the comms that it pulls Steve out of his churning thoughts and quickly helps to pull him men out of the way. He catches Brock striding towards them and Steve gets up to intercept him.

‘I’m calling for a retreat; too many of us are getting injured.’

‘Not an option,’ he bites back, undeterred as he moves into the cave without a damn care in the world.

As much as he doesn’t want to, Steve follows him because he needs to see this through. He needs to know what’s so important that the STRIKE team would sacrifice not only their own members but people of another team to do a mission that shouldn’t have accumulated such a list of casualties and should’ve been easy from the start. He makes sure Dum Dum can handle helping the others before going after Brock.

He follows after him at a distance, far enough that he can somewhat hear Brock but he can’t be heard in return. He listens at the scuffle of feet ahead of him, someone panting and then begging, ‘Brock, plea--’ before it stops at the sound of a gun going off.

It doesn’t take him long to find the person who was shot – dark-skinned, burnt in some places, bald, mid to late 30’s, glasses askew – and he doesn’t look like he fits in at all, his outward demeanour at odds with every other hostage and hostile he’s seen.

Steve files it away and keeps going, ignoring the blackened bodies and equipment strewn all over the place. He hears the occasional echo of a gunshot inside the cave and he wonders what the real reason is behind the STRIKE team being here on the same mission as them. It feels dirty, like they were sent here to take care of more than just the hostiles within the base.

It feels worse because that man that was shot mentioned Brock by name.

There’s a flood light knocked down onto the ground, flickering occasionally, and he can hear someone picking through the debris, kicking things out of the way before the snap of two locks opening up one after another. Steve slowly edges his sightline around the corner until he see Brock crouched down on the floor with a suitcase that looks exactly like the one the two men with the Hydra insignia leave with.

He sees another one right nearby him, hidden underneath the body of one of the teenage hostages and he uses the explosion happening from outside the cave to grab it and go, hurrying his way back out. When he makes it through the mouth of the cave he sees his entire team in disarray; Jacques has blood down his face and a limp in his leg as he holds up Jim who’s bleeding out from his flank and Riley is clenching his teeth as he hobbles with Sam supporting him, his foot twisted wrong at the angle and one wing smoldering. He shakes his head and decides this mission isn’t worth seeing through and calls for a retreat, leaving the STRIKE team behind as he throws an arm around Riley’s waist and helps them get away from that hellhole, fingers holding on tightly to the suitcase in his hand that he didn’t bother to check the contents of.

When they make their way back to the chopper he sees Gabe awake and disoriented while James is lying on Gabe’s lap, staring unseeingly into the ceiling. Steve grits his teeth and makes sure his men are going to be alright before he tells their pilot to get them all out of there.

‘What about the STRIKE team?’ He asks even as he’s pulling them up into the dark sky, making their way back to base.

‘They’re on their own,’ he shouts back and tries not to let his fury bubble over at what a catastrophic failure that mission turned out to be.

Brock Rumlow is hiding something, and whatever it is, is inside the suitcase.

As soon as they get back he makes Dum Dum take charge of the others. ‘I need to talk to Phillips and Peggy. They need to know what happened.’

Dum Dum gives a pointed look down at the suitcase in Steve’s hand but he doesn’t ask any questions, merely nods and starts barking out orders to some of the men nearby to get help from the on-site doctors and nurses.

Steve runs. He’s encumbered with all of his gear still on his body but he doesn’t stop until he finds Peggy and Phillips talking with the CO of the Avengers team, Nicholas Fury, in her office.

‘Sirs,’ he salutes and quickly shuts the door behind him and locks it, even though he knows it won’t do much good if someone wants to kick it down. ‘The mission was a failure; the STRIKE team weren’t there to help with the hostiles or the hostages. I saw Brock Rumlow pick up another suitcase like this one and there was a man he shot that called him by name.’

Phillips takes the suitcase, a little dented in places, and gets it open. Inside are five clear bags filled with blue translucent liquid that looks reminiscent of the serum that Steve was injected with. Phillips swears, loudly.

‘Who called Rumlow by name?’ Peggy asks as she begins to take notes.

Steve shakes his head as he grabs a pen and a piece of paper, starts sketching out a face. ‘Dark-skinned, bald, mid to late 30’s, wore glasses. He didn’t look like the other guys; he didn’t fit in.’

‘Jasper Sitwell,’ Nicholas Fury mutters as he takes the picture, his frown deepening in recognition. ‘I need to make a call; SHIELD might be compromised,’ he says as he picks up the phone in Peggy’s office and starts dialling, talking urgently and quietly as soon as it connects.

‘What else can you tell us?’ She presses.

‘The mission went downhill the minute we got there. STRIKE team left ahead of us and started shooting everybody – hostiles, hostages, even their own – it was a shit-show, pardon my language, Sir.’

He explains in full detail everything that went down as soon as they arrived, all the while trying hard not to worry about his team as he tells everybody in the room the possible injuries his men sustained during the mission. He, Dum Dum and Sam were probably the only ones to escape relatively unscathed but it still leaves with over half of them in serious need of medical attention.

They let him go as soon as they’ve been told everything. Steve wants to go see how everybody is doing but he decides to unload everything in their shared office first, knowing he wouldn’t be able to go very far into the medical building carrying guns and grenades on his person. He’s in through the darkened room, pulling the gun strap over his head when he gets punched and shoved into the wall, kicked in his gut and an elbow on top of his trapezius muscle just above his shoulder blade. He’s winded and knocked down onto his knees but he kicks out with enough coordination to land a hit on his assailant’s shinbone.

‘I know you were in that fucking cave with me, you piece of shit. Where is it!’ Brock hisses at him and barely gives Steve the time to draw a breath in before the other man is punching him across his jaw and grabbing him by his hair, bringing his head down on one of the desks. Steve twists his body out of the way, dizzy from it and almost tripping over his feet. He’s mindful of the weaponry he’s got on him but he doesn’t want to accidentally let loose a grenade; he’s not suicidal, but he can tell from the look on Brock’s face that he just doesn’t give a damn which of them dies.

They throw punches and kicks at one another and Steve almost loses his balance when the gun strap gets caught on the corner of a filing cabinet, giving Brock the opportunity to throw a chair his way, the armrest and legs knocking the wind out of him.

Brock isn’t his equal in terms of strength but he’s brutal in a way Steve never is, using a knife to cut him down and aiming to bleed him dry. Steve doesn’t even think it’s about the suitcase anymore, not when the other hasn’t even bothered to bring it up as soon as their fists started flying.

He thinks he hears a commotion outside as he lands hard onto the door, bruised. He scrambles for the exit then because there’s no way Brock would continue the fight when they’re out in the open but he’s barely two steps out of the room when three shots go off and he feels punched out by the pain that suddenly explodes throughout his body. He topples onto his hands and knees, gasps at the feel of his torso being shredded apart and cries out in pain when a booted leg kicks him right in the ribs.

‘They wasted it on you,’ Brock sneers as he punches Steve in the face and another one using the butt of the guy. ‘Look at you, can’t even put up a good fight; pathetic,’ he snarls as he delivers two more hits and Steve can’t fight him off, feels too breathless and too woozy to do more than just take it and hope he makes it out of there alive. Everything is starting to spin around him, growing dark and then painfully bright as he tries to stay awake. ‘I wanna say it’s nothing personal but that’s a lie – if I’m going down then I’m taking you with me.’ He feels the muzzle press into his temple, still hot from the last shots it fired.

He thinks of Bucky and wishes he could say he’s sorry.

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE MORE CHAPTER TO GO!!
> 
> Also, action scenes are hard to write. Send help, please.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ALIVE!!! BUT AFTER THIS, I'M GOING BACK TO BEING DEADDD~~
> 
> Please, excuse me...

That was when he was 28-years old, he remembers now. He was just a couple of days shy of his 29th birthday when shit hit the fan and the next thing he knows he’s waking up in a hospital room believing himself to be 21 and with a block on his memories. It blows his mind that he’d been asleep for over a year.

He touches the side of his temple where he remembers being pummelled with the butt of a gun repeatedly and gets up to the bathroom, switching on the light as he enters, to look at the skin under his hair. There’s no visible scarring that he can see or feel and when he lifts up his shirt to look at where he knows the three bullet holes ought to be there’s nothing there, nothing to suggest he’d even been hurt before. If he didn’t know any better he would’ve thought it never happened.

Steve has always known the super-soldier serum is something special and he knows that without it he would’ve surely been dead or incapacitated in some way at least three times over. His body bears no visual marks of being damaged or hurt in anyway and it doesn’t seem right that he can have this when he knows for sure that he isn’t going back to the military lifestyle. The last mission took more from him than he was willing to give and he rationalizes that it’s not cowardice to back out now when he never made any promises to remain with them for life.

There’s still the knock-off version of the serum that the military can do something with, provided they choose the right people. He wishes, then, that Abraham and Howard were still alive. Maybe the STRIKE team would’ve never had the chance to be formed if they were around to monitor it.

It’s three in the morning; he’s hungry and exhausted but it feels good to finally have a clear picture in his head, a linear timeline that he can follow without worrying about tripping over gaping holes and being left in the lurch.

A part of him wonders what happened to Brock Rumlow but he dismisses the thought as he rustles up a couple of sandwiches using the stuff in the fridge and eats them a little absentmindedly, wondering how much dust has accumulated in his house since he’s been away. It’s probably not a year’s worth, especially since he gave Bucky a spare key.

He lingers a little bit on the thought of Bucky as he takes his shower. If their positions had been reverse he’s not sure what he would’ve done differently except maybe if he’d known they had broken up years before he wouldn’t have tried so hard to get Bucky in bed. He flushes in embarrassment at how eager he’d been, and then with shame when he didn’t catch on that Bucky had been a reluctant partner. If Bucky had tried anything like that with him when he wasn’t ready for it he would’ve socked him on the face, amnesia or no.

Steve shakes his head as he finishes washing up and towels himself dry, slipping into a pair of pajama bottoms that he’d left behind. His mind is still buzzing a little bit from the events of the last couple of days and he decides he’ll call Serena to set up an appointment in the morning – he’s got a feeling he’ll be needing some therapy over this for a little while. He doesn’t know what to do, though, but he figures he’s got some time to try and sort himself out before he tries anything else.

Jet-lagged, he ends up sleeping in until after lunch, only waking up when Tony comes barreling into his apartment shouting about Korean barbecue. He considers ignoring the other and going back to sleep but the thought of sizzling meat makes his tummy grumble and his mouth salivate so he makes himself get out of bed, knowing that wherever Tony wants to go to is usually pretty damn worth the trouble.

\--

He’s back to having therapy sessions twice a week for the time being to see how he’s coping with the influx of information until Serena decides that they can go back to just having weekly meetings if he seems like he’s capable of handling it. He also makes time to see Sam and Riley again, knowing they’ve already been apprised of the situation from the other guys back at base. He hadn’t been around for the skype call, was holed up in meetings for most of the days after that, and he barely had enough time to pack his things and have one last shared meal with them before Tony arrived to take him back to New York.

The car Tony lends him is flashy and fast, a bit of a waste in a city as jam-packed as New York but he likes the purr of the engine as he makes his way through the streets towards Sam and Riley’s house. Steve parks on the curb outside, kind of wishes it doesn’t stand out so much amongst the family seven-seater vehicles or the soccer-mom vans or the suburban-dad cars as he turns the ignition off. It sticks out like a sore thumb but, well, that’s Tony’s style.

Sam and Riley are already standing by their front door when he arrives, no doubt alerted by the sound of a V8 engine from two streets away and coming closer. Sam has a relieved smile on his face and Riley looks on at the car with obvious jealousy. It looks like a good day for Riley; he’s not holding onto the crutch and both feet are firmly planted on the ground.

Steve smiles as he makes his way up to them and Sam whistles as he gets nearer, making him put a little bit more of a swagger in his steps that gets a laugh out of the two of them.

‘What a jerk; you know this guy?’ Sam asks as he turns to Riley, sticking a thumb out to point at him.

‘Nope, can’t say I have but we better shut the door; he looks like a solicitor.’

Steve laughs, hand over his chest and takes off his sunglasses before pulling the both of them into a hug. They drag him inside and it feels good to have his memories back even though they’ve never treated him any differently even when he was without them but there are the details they skimmed over previously that they’re now free to talk about.

Sam fills him in on some of the stuff that happened during their last mission when Steve had been in the cave chasing after Rumlow, how he almost didn’t catch Riley and even when he did he couldn’t hold on. There’s no blame on Riley’s expression though, only sorrow. Sam confesses there are still some nights where he wakes up shaken, thinking that Riley is dead because he couldn’t reach him in time.

‘But I’m dealing with it,’ he smiles a little weakly but proud as well. Riley knocks him his shoulder before filling him in on what happened as soon as they got back to base while Steve went off to find Phillips.

‘Jim was a bit touch-and-go; we thought he was going to die from sepsis but they managed to get him stabilized,’ he sighs, his expression a little tight around his mouth even though it’d been so long ago since it happened. ‘They sent him home for a couple of months but he went back as soon as he could to give his statements against the STRIKE team.’

‘Gabe and James both had concussions, were missing a couple of hours, but they got it back real quick.’

Steve nods and asks about Jacques. ‘Last I saw him he had blood all over his face and was limping.’

‘He got a cut on his forehead above his eyebrow and the limp was from when he overcompensated trying to stop them falling flat on their faces when Jim tripped up.’

He chuckles a little bit, remembering the first time he ever saw Jim Morita. It’s weird; feels just like yesterday and he guesses, in a way, it kind of is. When he pulls himself out of his thoughts he sees Sam and Riley looking at him with an unreadable expression on their faces.

‘What are you planning to do now?’ Sam asks, carefully like he doesn’t want to give any indication of what he’s thinking of, what he’s hoping for.

Steve shrugs, thinking back on what Phillips told him about the STRIKE team. ‘As far as I’m concerned; I’m out. I just need to make it official,’ he tells them and as soon as he’s said those words a smile begins to light up both of their faces, bodies relaxing and relieved at the news.

‘That’s great,’ Sam tells him as Riley gets up and walks carefully into the kitchen, grabbing each of them a bottle of beer. ‘You know, a lot of the guys were thinking of retiring after that fiasco but they wanted to clean up the mess STRIKE left behind first. Wanted to make sure nothing like that ever happens again.’

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t around to help,’ Steve sighs, ashamed at the thought that, while everybody had been working hard, he’d been asleep.

Riley hands them a bottle each, already twisted open. ‘You helped – the evidence in that suitcase you got combined with what Rumlow did to you was enough to put him away for a long-ass time. And the way the STRIKE team conducted themselves at the base was more than enough to get an investigation opened up against the guy in charge of them. You took a beating, but so did they.’

‘Only, they didn’t get back up.’ Sam throws in.

Steve nods, feeling comforted by their words.

They shift to lighter conversations after that and catch up a little bit more since the last time they saw each other. They make plans to have a get-together as soon as all of the boys are relocated back to the states and have settled back down to living a civilian life. He ends up staying for dinner, eating roast chicken because Riley says he’s too lazy to try anything else and bouncing renovation ideas for his house.

He wants to do something with the attic, maybe turn it into a studio, maybe add a couple of skylights in there to brighten up the place a bit more. It’s got the potential to be something good and Steve can’t help but feel excited at the thought of what his future may bring him, the possibilities that have suddenly opened up.

\--

When he arrives at his house after spending another week with Tony he finds almost nothing has changed, except there’s a small toy box in the corner of the living room and the backyard has a covered sand pit in a kiddie pool. He huffs out a little laugh as he goes through the rest of the house and sees the made-up bed sheets in both of the rooms and the thinnest layer of dust on all of the surfaces. He wonders if Bucky had been by to clean the place, getting it ready for him in case he remembers he bought himself a house, but probably hadn’t come back since the last time they saw each other. He sighs and figures he knows what to do for the rest of the day.

The beds get stripped from both of the rooms and he has enough to get a load going. While that’s being washed he gives the bathroom a good wipe down. It’s mostly clean; the only thing in there that needed a bit of elbow grease was the toilet bowl. Steve is a bit more apprehensive with the fridge, especially after remembering what he saw happened to Riley’s. He holds his breath in anticipation behind a t-shirt but he’s pleasantly surprised to see all the shelves and drawers have been cleared out. It’s not even on and there’s nothing in the freezer, either, but he still makes himself give it a clean before switching it back on to get it running again.

He goes to make a quick grocery run for just the basic necessities – bread, butter, peanut butter, jam, cheese, milk, eggs, bacon, sausages – and picking up something for dinner because he knows he won’t be in the mood the cook at the end of the day. As soon as he’s back, he airs out the house, hangs up the laundry in the backyard and gets another load going because even the bed sheets that he’s got in the cupboards have a weird musty smell to them from lack of use.  Worst comes to worst, he can sleep on the couch and he decides it’s a good thing he invested in a comfortable one over something that might be more aesthetically pleasing.

It takes him just two days to get the house cleaned up and ready for any potential guests but it takes him another three more before he musters up the courage to send Bucky a text to come over to the house if he wants to.

_Natasha can bring Clint, too, if she wants._

_I’ll bring dinner and drinks_ , is Bucky’s reply.

He snorts as he types out: _You mean Natasha will make the dinner and you’ll buy the drinks_ , but he quickly follows it up with: _I’ll make apple pie. If Lily’s not sick of it by now._

_Lily would love that._

It feels like déjà vu again, how much he fusses over the state of the house even though it’s as meticulously clean as he can make it. He’s just got the pie out of the oven to sit on the stove top when he hears an excited knock on his door and the giggling of two people trying to one-up each other on the knocking.

‘Please stop,’ he begs but he can’t help the smile on his face as Lily launches towards him while Clint sheepishly waves. Natasha looks at the two of them fondly as she holds up a well-used pot that smells like the Russian stew he’s had before. It’s been well over two years ago by now but memory is a funny thing.

Steve grins as he lets them inside and notes the way Bucky is standing near the back, using a big box of beers held in both of his hands like a shield. The brunet’s grin is awkward and he avoids eye-contact as he makes his way inside the house to put the drinks away.

‘Is everybody hungry?’ Natasha asks as she takes off the lid, filling his kitchen with a rich savoury smell before pulling out another container that had been in her tote bag he hadn’t noticed earlier.

‘Yeah, let me get you the plates. I gave everything a clean again because who knows how long it’s been,’ he jokes a little and distracts Liliana from the apple pie by getting her to help with the cutleries. She works dutifully, as if she knows she’ll be rewarded if she behaves properly, which he thinks is super cute.

Natasha made them _golubtsy_ and _kolduny_ for dinner and it tastes as great as it smells. He can’t help gushing over them the same way he did with the stew and the dumplings she made for them before, the mince so moist and just so flavoursome. He asks her where she learnt to cook, if she learned from watching her mother or grandmother, if she’s got a recipe book somewhere full of hand-me-down recipes through the generations and if she does would she be willing to share.

She’s got a stunned expression on her face which he thinks is to be expected; he only spoke with her occasionally and had always been unfailingly polite but never this casual. She takes it all in stride though, as she smiles and tells him her learnt from her _babushka_ because she was the best cook in the entire family. She does actually have a recipe book but it’s all written in Russian so she’d have to translate a few to give to him if he has anything he wants to try.

‘That’ll be great, thanks,’ he grins, feeling excited at the thought of trying something new, and then asks Clint how everything’s going.

‘Good,’ he says and signs at the same time, ‘we’ll catch up properly next time and I’ll fill you in on what happened on that mission that took the rest of my hearing.’ His voice has gained a little bit of a slurred quality from the beer he’s had, but Steve figures it’s also from the fact that he can’t hear his own voice and isn’t able to fully enunciate anymore.

Throughout the dinner he notices Bucky fidgeting a little bit, barely talking, looking his way quite frequently but always skirting away from meeting his eyes. He and Clint are on their second bottles of beer but Bucky’s already on his fourth, steadily working his way up to the fifth. He leaves Clint and Natasha to talk and sign with each other on the couch with Lily sitting between the two of them and watching intently, her fingers moving to mimic the shapes their fingers are making, and follows after Bucky into the kitchen.

Steve gently holds the door shut when he sees Bucky reaching for it. ‘Maybe we could do with a talk, what do you say?’

Bucky nods, hiding a little bit behind his hair as Steve puts his empty bottle down by the sink to toss out into the recycling later and leads Bucky out into the backyard to stand on the patio. He really does think a porch swing would look nice here, maybe with a couple of potted plants to create a little jungle getaway but he shakes his head to rid himself of the distraction as he turns to Bucky.

‘I’m sorry for not giving you a chance to explain yourself,’ he starts but Bucky’s already shaking his head before he’s finished talking.

‘No, no. It was my fault; I kept it from you because I was a coward, am still a coward. Natasha pushed so hard for me to tell you but I couldn’t because...I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking but it was selfish of me to hide your life from you.’

‘Yeah, it kinda was,’ he murmurs and sees the slow nod and hears the shaky sigh as Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, ‘but, well, like the doctors said; memory is a tricky thing. I figured you didn’t want to risk hurting me more than I already was.’

Bucky nods again and Steve wishes he would look over his way because he wants to see his face. Slowly, he reaches out until he’s got his fingers curved around an elbow.

‘I’m seeing a therapist about what happened. Figured I’m gonna need it after everything my head’s been through,’ he tries to smile but feels a little too tender to be able to make it convincing. ‘It’s gonna take me a while but I’d like it if you’d stick around.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ he says softly as he turns towards Steve, his lips tilted up crookedly, ‘till the end of the line, right?’

God, don’t they make a pair with their sad little smiles and their lovesick hearts.

‘You still up for weekly dinners?’ He asks, trying for casual but missing it by a mile.

Bucky replies with a mock punch to his jaw, knuckles brushing close and intimate.

It feels like a promise. He thinks maybe they can keep it this time.

\--

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last chapter took longer than I expected because...reasons. Not getting enough sleep is one of them. Haha~
> 
> Some inconsistencies abound! I’ve tried to catch as much as them as I could but my eyes do not always see all. If you spot anything that doesn’t quite make sense or it doesn’t fit please let me know! If you spot any missed typos and horrendous grammar errors please also let me know! This story has not been beta’d or read through with another set of eyes before being published so on the one hand, WOOHOO! You’re the first! But on the other, FORGIVE ME MY MISTAKES... 
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for joining me on this wild ride from start to finish~ It's been a good experience for me and I hope you all had a good read as well~ I'm not sure when I'll rise up from the grave to write another story but that's something to ponder over in the future. Probably when I'm averaging 8 hours of sleep per night as opposed to just 5...hahahaha! -ded-
> 
> <3 Many thanks!!

**Author's Note:**

> I got everything ALL PLANNED OUT! (I say with faux confidence.) According to my draft it's going to be about 10 or so chapters long with an average of about 3000 words per chapter which could potentially make this...I dunno, my 3rd longest fic. I don't think I'll ever surpass that 43k mark that I did when I was still writing for Teen Wolf but we shall see~ Things change all the time, after all.
> 
> Updates will be popping up every 3 or 4 days. I do my best to catch all my mistakes with regards to spelling, structure and grammar but well, I am human (and English is my second language) and I make mistakes so let me know if there's anything that doesn't quite sit right with you and I'll see about correcting it. Thanks y'all and see you next chapter!
> 
> EDIT: SORRY FOLKS, I DIDN'T KNOW THAT AO3 SUBMITTED THE SAME STORY ABOUT A DOZEN TIMES. I'll delete the excess...


End file.
